


Aftershocks

by genginger



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Angst, F/M, Politics, Post-Blight, Smut, landsmeet breakup, post-Origins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-22
Updated: 2014-03-05
Packaged: 2017-12-24 08:25:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 32
Words: 82,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/937774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/genginger/pseuds/genginger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nessa Cousland and Zevran Arainai deal with the aftermath of the blight and Ferelden's civil war while trying to keep Anora on the throne. Sometimes decisions made in the heat of the moment have unexpected consequences.<br/>(A post-Blight, pre-Awakenings adventure/romance.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Zevran's eyes were on the cards in front of him, though his thoughts were elsewhere. The quiet click of hard soled shoes in the passageway beyond snapped him back into the present; he turned and smiled toward the doorway just before Nessa Cousland stepped through.

She paused on the threshold for a moment to let her eyes adjust to the dimness of the guards' dormitory. The room was long and narrow, illuminated only sparsely by a few battered lanterns. The only furniture of note aside from the long row of beds was the scuffed wooden table at which Zevran and his companions were playing Diamondback. The other three at the table wore the livery of off-duty guardsmen.

As Nessa spotted Zevran, he slithered to his feet, laying his cards face down on the table. One of his hands came to rest causally over them as if by accident.

Nessa was dark-haired and broad shouldered; she moved into the room with purpose rather than grace. Except for the long yellow dress she wore, she might have been a guard herself. Her blue eyes were narrowed in an expression that Zevran knew very well. She was annoyed about something; quite seriously so, judging by the flush on her cheeks. He felt a powerful temptation to add to it.

If there was one thing Zevran loved, it was giving in to such temptations. "The Hero of Ferelden has decided to join us," he announced to the others.

Nessa's lips tightened. He grinned, unrepentant.

"Did you come to play," he asked, knowing she hadn't, "or do you have need of me?"

"Do us all a favor and take him, please." The young blond woman who spoke twisted toward Nessa and smiled wryly. "He'll put us all the in the poor house. Penn here has nothing left but his shirt... and there's no one here wanting to see him naked."

Penn shrugged off the remark with a frown.

"The elf is cheating," he grunted. "I'd put money on it."

"You haven't got any," the third guard interjected with an unkind laugh.

"Maker take me if I can figure out how he's doing it, though," Penn finished, never moving his eyes from the table.

"Cheating? I'm wounded you would think such a thing," replied Zevran, glancing away from Nessa for the first time. He leaned over the table to give Penn a long assessing look. "Though I must admit  _I_  would not entirely object to seeing you naked."

His companions hooted.

"Personally," Nessa broke in, "I have no desire to separate any of the queen's guards from their clothing. Guard Captain Cauthrien would be displeased at the loss of supplies, if nothing else. Take a break from divesting them of their hard-earned coin and come walk with me for a bit."

"As you like," Zevran said.

He neatly scooped his winnings off the table, and slid them into a pouch at his belt. Penn grabbed at the cards he'd left behind, turned them over, and swore.

"I wouldn't play cards with Zevran anymore if I were you," Nessa said over her shoulder on her way out. "He has Andraste's own luck."

  


* * *

Nessa led the way through a series of long dim corridors without speaking. She bypassed the more populated areas of the palace and headed for the back stairs.

"So, my Hero," Zevran said as they climbed to the castle roof, "what is the news?"

"I've told you not to call me that," she said sharply.

"Ah, but it's so much more impressive sounding than Warden," he pointed out cheerfully.

Nessa frowned and turned to argue; instead she ended up tripping on her skirt. Zevran instantly reached out to catch her, but she shrugged irritably out of his grasp.

"Flaming skirts. I've completely forgotten how to walk in them; should have stopped to change." She hiked up the offending fabric and scowled her way up the stairs.

"You look lovely," said Zevran from behind her. "Like a golden beam of sunlight on a grey and dismal afternoon."

Nessa snorted. "You're just giddy from the shock of seeing me in a dress," she said. "Fergus insisted that I 'look like a lady and a proper Cousland for a change' and sent the queen's own dressmaker to ambush me. It's just a waste of fabric and money as far as I'm concerned."

They paused on the upper landing, momentarily blinded by the bright sunshine. The roof was empty except for a single sentry at the far end. He squinted at them for a moment, then recognized Nessa and offered a salute. Nessa lifted a hand in response, then lead the way towards the roof's edge.

"Anyway," she said, "you're trying to change the subject. I'm not your 'hero.' Why don't you try calling me by name? Or have you forgotten it after all this time?"

Zevran only smiled. "It is not a bad thing, now and then, to remind people of what you have accomplished. It smooths the way to getting what you want, does it not?"

"That entirely depends on who you're dealing with," she replied grimly.

"Ahh. So your meeting with the queen did not go well."

"Not exactly," said Nessa. She rested her elbows on the parapet and looked out across the city. "But it wasn't her fault. Now that we're officially done chasing the last of the darkspawn army, Fergus has gotten leave to return to Highever. The problem is… he wants me to come with him."

"I see," said Zevran. "And?"

"And I suppose I have to," she said darkly. "I'd rather go back to the Deep Roads." She picked irritably at one of her embroidered cuffs. "Fergus is right that there's a teyrnir to run. Someone has to look at the damage, visit the farmholders, see what's left. I just don't see why 'someone' has to include me."

She rested her head on her arms.

Several stories down, crews of workers were rebuilding the Alienage bridge. The sounds of sawing and the shouts of men and elves drifted up towards them.

"Fergus is trying to name me his heir," she eventually confessed to her elbows. "But he can't. When I took my Warden vows, I promised to leave my family behind. Duncan made it very clear that Cousland business was no longer my responsibility. I've explained this to Fergus — at great length — but so far he's refused to hear it."

She lifted her head and added with a frown, "And there's no Warden Commander in Ferelden at the moment to officially forbid it. He won't listen to me when I try to explain… and honestly there's no real reason I can't at least go help put things in order. Fergus might be an overbearing ass, but I guess it's not really fair to ask him to go alone."

She'd spent most of the last year firmly trying to block out her last night at Highever — the fires, the fighting, and the last sight of her parents before Duncan pulled her away.

There was a stir of air beside her as Zevran pulled himself up to sit on top of the wall. Nessa let out a breath of surprise.

"I don't know how you do that," she said. "A three story drop, and you look as comfortable as if it were only high as a pasture fence."

"As a point of fact, I find a castle roof far more inviting than a pasture fence," he answered with a grin.

"True. You're about as happy in the mud as I am in a dress." She looked down at her skirt, and her smile faded. "I'm sorry," she said. "We had planned to travel, but it's just been one thing after another."

He raised one shoulder in a graceful shrug. "A trip to Highever will be travel, will it not?"

"It's hardly what we had in mind. Besides, it's going to be mostly manual labor and family drama. I would get out of it if I could; why should you suffer? You don't have to come. Our debt is settled."

The corner of his mouth twitched. "So you have said. Of course, if you tire of my company… I don't wish to be in the way."

"No," she said, reaching out to rest a hand on his arm. "That's not what I am saying at all. It would be much easier with a friend. I just don't want you to feel like you have to."

"Then it is settled," he said, lifting her hand and bringing it to his lips.

"Cut that out." Her words were stern, but she smiled as she tugged her hand free.

He winked and continued, "We have stayed here in Denerim longer than I like anyway; there are too many comings and goings with all the construction, and far too much noise. It interferes with my beauty sleep."

He did look tired, she realized suddenly. There were shadows under his eyes she hadn't noticed before.

"It will be good to get moving again," Zevran continued, jumping down off the wall to avoid her scrutiny. "Who knows? It might be easier to slip away from your brother's estate than it is from the court. Perhaps this is only the first stage of our journey."

"Maybe," Nessa said, with a dubious frown.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A million thanks to hot-elf, without whom this story would still be languishing half-finished in a (metaphorical) drawer.


	2. Chapter 2

A short time later, Nessa went down the stairs and back to her rooms, and Zevran took off to do… whatever it was that Zevran did in his spare time. Nessa wasn't sure what that might be. Swindling more guardsmen at cards, perhaps? Or seducing them, more likely. He had always been rather… omnivorous. Honestly, she told herself firmly, she didn't want to know and the less she thought about it the better.

As part of the Cousland family, Nessa merited a suite of rooms in the palace, rather than being relegated to the Warden compound down in the market district. That turned out to be for the best; while the building itself was still standing after the Archdemon's attack, much of the surrounding area was not. She'd offered it to the crown for use as refugee housing, and now it was packed to the rafters with merchants and tradesmen and their families.

Living in the palace was no hardship; Nessa had a sitting room with a separate bedchamber in the south wing, lit by tall narrow windows. There was even a small closet to serve as a maid's sleeping chamber, though Nessa didn't have a maid. She'd had a girl at Highever to look after her clothes and tidy her room, but Elan had also had other duties around the castle as well. While some Ferelden noblewomen kept ladies in waiting, Nessa's mother had always called it a pretentious fashion. Nessa herself had always been more interested in playing outdoors and running after Fergus than in clothes and gossip anyway. And now… she'd spent so long putting up her own tent and bathing in whatever reasonably clean water she could find — when she was lucky enough to find it — that paying someone to hover around to put away her clothes and brush her hair seemed ridiculously extravagant.

Nessa changed into something she could actually move in, then spread the entire contents of her clothes chest across the bed. She was sifting through the pile — really, an appalling number of her shirts had tears in the cuffs — when she heard a knock at the door.

When she opened it, there stood the queen, flanked by two of her guard.

"Your Majesty," Nessa said, and dropped a curtsy. The formality was at odds with her unconventional outfit of stained leggings and a baggy swordsmen's shirt — also with torn cuffs — but Anora hardly blinked.

"Are you free?" she asked.

"Of course," Nessa said, and stood back to allow her to enter. Anora motioned for her guards to stay out in the hallway and swept into the room. Another flick of her fingers and the door was gently closed behind her.

Anora was a striking woman; slender and graceful with fine features and a generous fall of wheat-colored hair. She greatly favored her mother, but Nessa could see traces of her father in the sharpness of her pale blue eyes and the determined set to her mouth.

"I apologize for the mess, Your Majesty," she began, moving to close the bedroom door.

"It's Anora when we're alone; don't make me remind you," said the queen, softening her words with a smile as she sat in the chair Nessa indicated. "I see you're packing already. Are you so eager to leave?"

Nessa grimaced. "Yes and no?" Since Anora had made it clear they weren't standing on ceremony, she dropped into a nearby armchair and tucked up her knees. "I'm looking forward to getting out on the road again. I can only sit through so many formal dinners without wanting to stab people."

Anora gave her a tolerant smile. "You never did have much patience with palace life."

"All that who-sits-before-whom and what-fork-to-use and don't-say-anything-interesting-for-fear-of-offendi ng-Lady-Horseface... I don't know how you manage to do it every day." She tightened her arms around her knees. "But going home… no, I wouldn't say I'm looking forward to it."

"It will be a difficult trip," said Anora.

"We don't even know if the keep is still standing. Though I suppose it should be; it's survived wars before this one." Nessa dropped her head to rest it on her knees. After a moment, she added abruptly, "I wish killing Rendon Howe had made me feel better. It was intensely satisfying in the moment, and he was a vile man who deserved what he got. All the same… it doesn't really change anything, in the end. My parents are still just as dead."

After a moment of silence, she sat back upright and put her feet on the floor. "Sorry. All the talk of going home has brought everything back. And I didn't offer you anything to drink. I have sherry, or I could send for tea?"

Anora shook her head. "No, thank you."

"Do you mind if I…?" she asked, standing up.

"Go right ahead."

Nessa moved to the sideboard, bending down to pull out a single glass and a half-empty bottle.

"On the other hand," she said as she poured, "poor Fergus didn't even have the satisfaction of revenge. Even if I don't want to go back, it isn't fair to make him face it alone." She re-corked the bottle with a thump and stowed it back in the cabinet.

"The truth is," Anora said when Nessa had straightened up again, "I came to ask you to consider keeping your visit to Highever as short as possible. Or if you're looking for an excuse not to go, I could give you one."

Nessa blinked in surprise, her glass hovering halfway to her mouth.

"Of course Fergus wants to see to Highever," Anora said. "It's a tragedy that he had to come into his inheritance so soon, but it is no surprise that he takes the responsibility so seriously. Naturally he wants you with him; we've all lost so much in this past year."

Nessa frowned.

"I've given leave for you to go," Anora continued, "and you should do what you think is best. It is simply…" she looked down at her hands, folded neatly in her lap, "I feel better having you here."

Nessa resumed her seat, and sipped her sherry instead of speaking. She had known Anora for a long time; the children of most of Ferelden's nobles had come to Denerim with their parents every summer for the Landsmeet. Anora had been closer to Fergus' age, and better behaved than the rest — or at least better at not getting caught — but she had a lively mind and a devious dry sense of humor. Nessa had always admired her. The older girl had helped her out of a few awkward scrapes, and she'd come to consider her a friend. Even so… the future queen had always been far more likely to exploit other people's weaknesses than to admit to any of her own.

"You put me back on the throne," Anora said, bringing Nessa back into the present. "Your presence here serves as an endorsement and a reminder. As hard as I've worked to keep my place here, I never would have been successful against Eamon's plans for Alistair without your help."

Nessa stiffened, then tried to cover it with another gulp of sherry. Anora was back to other people's weaknesses after all.

"Sometimes I regret granting your request," she said quietly. "My place here would be much more secure if he were entirely gone."

There wasn't much Nessa could say to this, so she kept her mouth shut.

"But what's done is done," Anora said. "I just wish I had more than my marriage to Cailan to back up my claims. My father…"

"I'm sorry about what happened to Loghain," Nessa began roughly. She'd apologized before — more than once — but it never felt like enough. What could you possibly say when you'd sent a friend's father to his death? No matter how much he might have deserved it.

"Nonsense," Anora said crisply. "It was the best possible outcome of a terrible situation." She leaned forward and placed a hand on Nessa's knee. "He died saving his country, rather than as a traitor. It was a noble end. I shall always be thankful." She stood up smoothly, and moved toward the window. "It may well be the only thing keeping me alive at the moment."

"What do you mean?" Nessa asked.

"I've had letters… of the threatening variety. My rooms have been tampered with, and there have been some gaps in security that the Guard Captain has been unable to account for. I trust Cauthrien with my life; but half of the Guard are new recruits. We haven't had the time or the resources to check up on them all as closely as we should." Anora pressed a hand to her forehead. "I know to some degree this is to be expected. We lost so many to the blight and the war, and my father made grievous errors. Many people don't trust me, in spite of everything I've done — before Cailan's death and after."

She turned away from the window and sighed. "I'm finding myself in a position I never dreamed possible… wishing that all his philandering had actually led to a child. No matter who the mother was, at least a child would have Theirin blood. I would be accepted more readily as a regent."

"Or as consort to a Theirin," Nessa added without really meaning to.

"Or as consort to a Theirin," Anora agreed. In a softer voice, she asked, "Do you miss him?"

Nessa picked at the hem of the too-large shirt she wore. "Yes," she admitted. She drained the remainder of her glass and gave the queen a shaky smile. "At the same time… if he were here now I'd probably strangle him myself."

One corner of Anora's mouth lifted in an almost-smile. "I feel exactly the same about his brother. Do you think it runs in the family?"

  


* * *

Unnerved by the queen's visit, Nessa had spent some time staring into space before realizing with a start that the shadows had been growing steadily longer and sunset was not far away. It was past time to get ready for dinner. Usually Nessa did her best to spend her evenings on patrol so she could avoid the formal palace dinners. But with the search for darkspawn stragglers officially ended and her stay in Denerim coming to a close, she didn't have a plausible excuse tonight. She hurriedly cleared the clothes off her bed, struggled back into her saffron-colored gown, re-braided her hair so it was at least tidy if not elegant, and hurried down the steps to the entrance hall.

As she scanned the room for her brother, she noticed an auburn-haired woman in a crimson mage's robe. The woman stepped forward and bowed.

"Petra, isn't it?" Nessa asked. "We met in the Tower – you were minding the apprentices."

"Yes, Warden. I am honored that you would remember."

"I thought the mage contingent had already left for home?"

"They have, except for the three of us," said Petra, waving a hand to indicate the two Templars standing some distance behind her. "The queen requested that the Circle leave a representative here in the palace. I believe I have you to thank for that," she said warmly.

"All Wynne's doing, I'm afraid – I only said I agreed it was a good idea," said Nessa. "You must be quite powerful to merit two Templars of your very own."

Petra didn't quite roll her eyes. "Very average, I assure you. They're just here to make the Grand Cleric feel better. Two of them means they can watch around the clock."

"So it's politics. A necessary evil in Denerim, I suppose. Speaking of necessary evil... I've got to find my brother. It was nice to see you again."

Nessa continued her scan of the room. Ahh, there was Fergus, waiting impatiently and looking every inch the important man he had become in the wake of their father's death. She had to admit he was handsome — tall, strong featured, and wearing a dark blue doublet that emphasized the color of his eyes. He would have been more handsome still had his expression not been so very grim. He caught sight of Nessa as she arrived and frowned. She nodded to let him know she was on her way… and walked straight into a pretty young woman garbed in a ferocious shade of orange. She groaned inwardly, but smiled politely.

"Sorry Habren! I'm late to meet Fergus and wasn't looking. That's, um, quite a dress you've got there."

And it was; the gown was well made and designed to make the most of Habren's figure. It must have been very expensive. It was interesting that Arl Bryland was willing to spend so much coin on fripperies for his daughters when there was widespread concern about how they were going to keep everyone fed next winter. But his daughters always had been on the spoiled side.

It was a pity about the color, though.

Habren sniffed. "I see all that running around waving a sword hasn't made you any less clumsy."

Her younger sister Maive smiled apologetically. "Hello Nessa." She glanced casually over Nessa's shoulder and added, "I don't see Zevran with you. Won't he be here this evening?"

Habren interjected before Nessa could reply. "Maive is developing a  _thing_  for Zevran. He's handsome enough, I guess, if you're interested in elves." Her sneer made her own thoughts clear on that particular topic.

"I don't have a thing!" Maive squeaked. "I just… he's very nice! And he tells interesting stories. I like to talk to him, that's all!"

Nessa made a mental note to urge Zevran to steer clear. Not that she cared what he did with his recreation time, of course, but Arl Bryland's daughters were nothing but trouble. Bryland had married a pretty, vain, and grasping sort of woman, and she'd passed on as much personality as looks down to her daughters. Habren had a downright nasty streak; if she thought Maive was involved with an elf, she'd make sure their father found out. Nessa didn't much care what happened to Maive, but it could make things awkward for Zevran.

"I don't know where he is tonight," she said. "Fortunately, it's not my job to keep track of him." She took a few steps backward. "I imagine he's out in town somewhere. Maybe the Pearl?"

Maive looked stricken and Habren appalled. That should shut them up, Nessa thought with satisfaction. If she was going to have an unpleasant night, Maive could too.

"Fergus is waiting," she continued, "so I really do have to go."

Habren looked over to where Fergus was standing against a pillar. He was politely pretending to listen to the elderly woman next to him, but his thoughts were clearly elsewhere.

"Maybe we should go with you," she suggested, patting her hair into place. "Poor Fergus looks like he needs rescuing, the dear."

Nessa's eyebrows shot up at the idea of anyone calling Fergus a 'dear' when he was wearing that particular expression. "I… don't think that's a great idea, actually. He looks really cranky, doesn't he? You might be better off waiting until after he's had something to eat."

Habren took another look. "Maybe you're right. We'll see you later then."

"Great," Nessa said weakly. "See you later."

"What took you so long?" Fergus asked when she finally managed to thread her way through the crowd. Nessa gestured expressively towards the mass of nobles, tradesmen, and servants filling the hall.

"I meant before that," he said.

"I lost track of time. The queen came to see me this afternoon. She — well, she invited me to stay here in Denerim instead of going to Highever. I told her I needed to go with you," she finished hastily, when Fergus' frown threatened to deepen into a scowl. "But it changed my afternoon around a bit."

"Let's not waste any more time then," he said shortly, and led the way towards the great double doors.

  


* * *

Each group that entered the room was officially announced, then escorted to the dais at the far end of the room to be formally greeted by the queen. Fergus' bow seemed particularly crisp this evening, Nessa noticed. That was probably her fault. Anora saw it too, of course — she was almost as annoying as Zevran when it came to picking up every tiny nuance. But she didn't respond in kind; if anything, her greeting was warmer than it might otherwise have been.

Afterwards, they moved toward the table where the other nobles had mostly already gathered. Many of them were clustered together, speaking in low tones.

"The poor woman can hardly be expected to manage everything alone," Bann Loren was saying. "Blighted fields, the city in ruins… But with all that we've lost, there are still enough eligible men of good blood —"

"Including yourself among that number, no doubt?" interrupted Bann Ceorlic with a sardonic smile.

"If Eamon were here, he'd make her see reason," said Arl Bryland. "It's far too big a job for a young lady, and there ought to be an heir. I agree with you there, Loren."

Nessa hated these dinners. Politics and disaster, that's all anyone ever wanted to talk about. After ten minutes of nodding politely while staunchly trying not to listen, she began to maneuver her way into a more hospitable seating arrangement. Eventually, she managed to coax Bann Alfstanna into switching places with her so she could sit farther down the table. By that time, Fergus was so deep in conversation with Arl Wulff about the restoration efforts at West Hills that he could barely be bothered to frown vaguely at her when she left.

Bann Teagan gave her a faint smile over his wineglass as she slid in next to him with a groan of relief.

"I thought I'd never get away from the marriage question and the endless crop restoration debate," she said. "Round and round about whether to let the Blighted fields lie fallow or to try enriching them with any number of unpleasant substances. I know it's important, but fertilizer hardly seems like dinner conversation." She wrinkled her nose.

Teagan chuckled quietly.

"Though I guess you have the same problem at Rainesfere, don't you?" she asked. "Orchards, isn't it? No wonder you look exhausted."

"It isn't… well, I suppose it is that, in a manner of speaking." He sighed. "I'll see when I get down there. I've had a letter from Eamon — he's finally well enough to come back to court himself. So I'll be off to look over my lands and deal with the mess as soon as he can get settled in. It should be just a few more days."

Nessa nodded. "You don't look at all happy to be going home. I can't blame you; I'm not either."

"I imagine you're not, under the circumstances," he said. "You're right though — I've no idea what to expect. Reports have been few… and these days, what news is good news?" He finished off the rest of his wine and leaned back to signal the steward to refill his glass. When the man had gone, he stared moodily at his plate, making no effort to continue their conversation.

Nessa fidgeted with her fork. So much for maneuvering her way into better company. Teagan was usually good for a story, or a smile at least, but tonight he was far from his usual gallant self. She wondered if it was just worry for Rainesfere that troubled him; but while she'd always liked Teagan, she didn't really know him well enough to pry.

She pushed the roast duck around her plate and wished that Zevran had come to dinner after all. He'd never have been seated at the high table, of course, but he was sure to get up to something entertaining, and she could at least have talked to him for a while. Better yet, she wished she'd have been able to go along to wherever he'd ended up, and avoided this whole palace dinner altogether.


	3. Chapter 3

"There's a good place to camp, just over the next rise," Fergus said.

It was the longest remark he'd made all day. The sun was low in the sky, throwing long shadows as they walked through the trees, striping their vision with abrupt shifts between dark and light.

"I know the place," Nessa replied. "I've slept there myself. Probably everyone heading west from Denerim does. Another ten minutes' walk, do you think?"

He grunted an assent and kept moving. His silence during the day had put a damper on everyone, even the four fighters he'd hired as his temporary guard. The sergeant was an older woman, with a gruff voice and short brown hair threaded with silver. The two men were comically opposite — Brion the archer was long and lean and dark, while his companion Turi had the proportions of an unusually tall blonde dwarf. The youngest of the four was just a boy, freckled and red-haired. He scurried along anxiously beside the others, sword bouncing on his hip. Kelwyn couldn't be much more than eleven, Nessa thought; she wondered where Fergus had found him and why he'd brought along someone so inexperienced. Did the kid have any idea how to use a sword at all?

She reached down to scratch Haft's ear. Her mabari hound was even happier than Nessa to be outside the castle walls. He looked up at her and wagged his stump of a tail. She nodded to him, then towards the road ahead; he gave a bark and darted away.

Kelwyn let out a small yelp as the dog streaked past him, his hand fumbling at his weapon. Nessa supposed that answered her question: nope, no sword experience.

Zevran caught Nessa's eye over the boy's head. She shrugged.

"You are nervous," Zevran said to Kelwyn with a smile, "but there is little reason to be. Haft is an experienced scout. We'll know well in advance if anyone is ahead of us."

Kelwyn snatched his hand from his sword as awkwardly as he had reached for it.

"It just startled me, Ser," he said, ducking his head. "I've never been out of Denerim before. The noises… they're different out here."

"Ahh, the woods are a strange place for us city folk, no? Just remember — it's when the forest  _stops_  making 'noises' that the worry starts." He clapped a friendly hand on Kelwyn's shoulder, and the boy gave him a tentative smile.

 

* * *

 

When they reached the camp, Haft lay panting under one of the large oak trees, looking pleased with himself. The area was clear — no darkspawn, no bandits, no marauding animals. Even the birds appeared to have cleared off.

Countless travelers had stopped at this spot over the years on their way to and from the capital city. The powdery gray dirt was packed solid by many feet, especially around the large fire pit. There was plenty of flat space to lay out tents, and as the group clanked to a halt they could just hear the running of water down the hill, somewhere beyond a stand of scrubby bay trees.

Nessa paused for a slow count of five. When she'd reached the end of it and her brother had made no sound beyond a brief groan as he dropped his pack, she pushed into action.

"Sargent Andras, why don't you get started on the tents? Kelwyn can help you. Off to the right is the best place - the ground under those trees is rockier than it looks. We'll need water — Turi, Zevran can show you the best spot to get it. Better refill the flasks as well as the kettle." She slipped her pack off her shoulders and tossed it to Zevran, who caught it neatly and began untying her waterskin. She jabbed a thumb towards the dark haired guard and continued. "Brion and I will get started on firewood. I don't think there are any darkspawn in the area, but let's all try to stay as close to the camp as we can."

The guards nodded and moved to their tasks — all except Fergus, who stared at his sister as though she were a perplexing and rather unpleasant stranger.

"And what am I expected to do?" he asked stiffly.

"I wouldn't presume to give you instruction, mighty Teyrn," she said with a mock curtsey. "Though we could certainly use help with the wood."

He continued to stare at her. She rolled her eyes.

"Fergus, I've been traveling these roads and ordering people around for a year. It will be a lot easier for both of us if you can try to remember that."

When Fergus still said nothing, she turned to Brion, who was shifting uneasily from one foot to the other behind her. "Let's go. Far side of the path, I think; this side tends to get picked over."

When they returned with their arms full of branches some time later, Fergus was shoveling the fire pit clear of old ash. From the looks of it, no one had done so for ages; the bucket next to him was nearly full. Zevran had just finished setting up Nessa's tent and was working on his own, while the guards were just getting the poles planted for their own larger tent. From their conversation it was evident that Kelwyn had gotten tangled in the lines and it had taken some time to sort everything out.

Nessa dropped her load of wood next to Fergus with a clatter and went to fetch the axe. After Brion set down his burden with somewhat more care, she handed it to him. Turi, long since back from fetching the water, ambled over to join Brion as he headed back out into the trees. Haft darted after them.

Nessa eyed the tents dubiously and looked down at her brother. "I didn't realize you only had the one," she said. "It's going to be a tight fit for four, much less five. Take mine, and I'll share with Zev." She squatted down and began re-stacking the wood pile so that the larger pieces were on the bottom.

"Nessa," Fergus said sternly, tying the trowel back onto his pack. "You know that's not appropriate."

"Oh please. We're traveling. Things are different out here. Anyway, it's not like we've never shared a tent before."

Her brother froze.

"Oh," she said, looking up. "That's not quite what I meant. That is, we have… um… well." She felt her cheeks turn pink. This was not the sort of conversation a girl really wanted to have with her brother. It would have been better to have kept her mouth shut, but it was too late now. She continued in a rush. "But not… you know, recently, if that makes you feel any better."

She busily resumed stacking wood.

"It's all over the castle," Fergus said grimly. "People have been asking me if it's true you'd taken up with that elf. I almost called Vaughn out for daring to suggest it."

"Vaughn's a toad," Nessa muttered.

"Well, I suppose I'd better have a word with him," Fergus grunted, and started to push to his feet.

Nessa's hand shot out to grab his wrist. "Don't you  _even_ ," she hissed. "It was my choice. People do crazy things in a blight. And it's not like he was the first."

Fergus' swallowed hard. "Oh Nessa," he said, his voice heavy. "Mother would be heartbroken." Then his eyes narrowed. "Was it Gilmore? I told him if he ever so much as touched you —"

"And he never would have," she retorted angrily. "Even if I'd wanted him to."

Fergus started to lift his fingers in a conciliatory gesture. "You're right," he started, then stopped. "Dairren."

Nessa let go of his arm. "Dairren," she agreed. "You know Mother and Lady Landra were pushing for a match. He suggested we… try it out, to see if we'd suit."

Her brother gave a disbelieving snort.

"I know," she said, "in retrospect it seems like a pretty obvious play. But at the time… and anyway, I wanted to. So if you have to blame someone blame me. And remember that he and his mother were visiting that night…" She swallowed. "More of Howe's victims. Mother and Father, Oriana and Oren, Nan and Elan, Ser Gilmore, Lady Landra and Dairren… they were all killed. And after Ostagar, the women who rescued me said that the wilds were overrun with darkspawn and that no one could possibly have survived." Her eyes filled. "I thought you were gone too, and that everyone who'd ever cared about me was dead."

Fergus closed his eyes. When he'd found out about the massacre at Highever, he had thought the same — that he was all alone. But here they both were.

"I wasn't anyone's little girl anymore," said Nessa. "Even Duncan and the Wardens were gone, leaving Alistair and me to fight it all alone." She knotted her fingers together. "So I… I took comfort when it was offered, on a night I really needed to feel close to someone. Zevran has never given me cause to regret it. He's my friend, my comrade. The things we've been through together…" She lifted her shoulders, as though she could shrug the past away, and looked up at her brother, her eyes pleading. "I don't care what people at the palace think. Please Fergus, treat him with respect."

He rubbed his face and sighed.

"You're right," he said after a moment. "I do still think of you as a sheltered kid. But none of us are sheltered anymore, are we?"

He looked around at the camp. Nessa's quick direction meant that setup was almost complete; all that was left to do was start the fire.

"You obviously know how to handle yourself," he admitted. "I'll try harder."

"Pinky swear?" she asked, leaning forward to hold out her right hand, littlest finger crooked.

He smiled, though the expression looked a bit rusty. "Pinky swear," he answered, wrapping his own around hers and squeezing. Then he used the fact that she was over extended to pull her off balance, landing her on hands and knees in the dirt.

"You never learn, do you?" he asked, sounding for the first time in ages like the brother Nessa remembered.

She stuck her tongue out at him. "Bully," she said, getting to her feet and brushing at her pants.

"Brat," he countered, reaching over to start laying out kindling. He was still smiling.

His expression changed a moment later when Zevran casually walked by and scooped up Fergus' pack. He carried it to his own tent and stowed it inside.

"Did he hear…?" Fergus asked uncomfortably.

"Every word," she replied with some satisfaction. "When Zevran is in the same  _country_  as you, it's safer to assume he's heard your conversation. If he hasn't, he can find someone who has. Trying to keep secrets from a former Crow is pretty much impossible. If you don't want him to know something, don't say it out loud." She paused, then looked down at Fergus with a mischievous smile. "Or write it down, either. He's very good at finding things."

She clapped her hands together to knock off the last of the dust. "I'm going to see how Brion is coming with that wood," she said, and bounced off in the direction of the trees.

 

* * *

 

Later that evening, after they had eaten a meal of fry bread and peppery cured salami, Nessa was seated on the ground some distance away from the others. She wrapped her arms around her knees, looking up at the stars. Fergus was making notes in a journal by firelight, and occasionally scratching Haft's ears. The dog was curled up against his knee, snoring softly. Kelwyn and Turi had gone down to the creek to wash the dishes, and the others talked quietly and cleaned their gear.

Zevran came and dropped lightly down beside Nessa.

"Anora has been getting threatening letters," she said, keeping her voice low.

"I know," he replied.

"You…" She stared at him for a moment, then let out a helpless laugh. "Maker's breath, you really can't leave well enough alone, can you? You're going to get yourself killed.  _I_  know you don't mean Anora any harm, and I could  _probably_  convince her of that fact. But if the guard catches you poking around the royal apartments, they're going to shoot you full of arrows before I get the chance."

"Ahh, but I never get caught."

Nessa rolled her eyes, and he shrugged.

"As a matter of fact, sneaking around the capital has been far too easy of late." He sounded unusually serious. "Security has been deplorable, and the extra to-and-fro of the construction only makes it worse."

Nessa frowned. "Is that why you've been looking so tired? Are you testing the holes in the security or trying to cover them?"

"Old habits die hard," he said lightly, "though spying around Denerim palace is hardly a challenge worthy of my talents. Speaking of my talents, by the way — your brother has been watching me all evening as though he had discovered a cat with two tails and was not quite sure what to make of it."

"Good," she said smugly. "It's my duty as a younger sister to make him paranoid."

She let go of her knees and leaned her weight back on her hands. "A cat with two tails, hmm? I've never heard that before." She cocked her head to one side, studying him. "Though now that you mention it… there is definitely something feline about you. You're not another disguised desire demon like Kitty, are you? I've been hearing tales of your conquests."

"I am, alas, all too mortal," he replied, his eyes dancing. "And even I could not have enjoyed as many people in Denerim as I am rumored to have done. It is a pity, but there simply aren't enough hours in the day. Although," he added, leaning in closer and trailing a long brown finger up her calf, "you should tell me if you yourself are feeling certain… desires in my presence. It is unwise to leave such things caged up inside."

Nessa nudged him away with her foot. "With my brother just across the way? I've had enough protective disapproval for one day, thanks. But," she continued more seriously, "I'd be wary of Arl Bryland's daughters, if I were you. They bite."

She climbed to her feet and flashed him a teasing smile. "And not in the good way. Well! On that note, I'm going to bed. Mind you don't forget which Cousland is sharing your tent tonight; I don't think Fergus will be interested. And I'm fairly certain he doesn't bite at all."

"You are a cruel, cruel woman," he called after her.


	4. Chapter 4

Six days later, they emerged from the woods to the smell of the sea. Before them was a stretch of open land, covered with golden grass and an occasional bunch of scrub, sloping gently downward toward rocky cliffs. The path ahead grew wider and flatter on its way toward the edge, where Castle Highever was perched on a spit of outlying land. Seagulls wheeled in the air beyond.

Both Fergus and Nessa stopped walking, and their companions stuttered to a halt behind them. When the party was still, Nessa could just barely hear the sough of waves below the cliffs. Home. She took a few deep breaths of salty air, then reached out to squeeze her brother's hand. He returned the squeeze briefly, rolled his shoulders, and continued forward.

From this far away the keep looked whole, though the earth around it was scorched bare in places, and even this far back the shrubbery and garden looked untended and wild. But the castle walls stood straight and tall and the sea beyond sparkled in the sun. If Nessa let her eyes blur just a tiny bit, she saw her home as she remembered it.

Everyone remained quiet and watchful as they approached the grounds. The outbuildings looked untouched by fire, but the doors and shutters stood open to the wind. The training ground was empty, and the silence felt almost unnatural. Nessa looked across to the keep and saw that the great wooden doors were charred and sagging, in no condition to keep out marauding animals or determined thieves. She wondered what — or who — they might find inside.

As the gravel drive crunched under their feet, she eased closer to Fergus. "Let's split up and and do a walk around the perimeter," she said, keeping her voice low. "We can meet at the kitchen door around the back. I'd like to see a bit more before we go inside."

Fergus nodded. "Good idea."

"Zev and I will take Haft and walk around to the west."

She glanced at the pair of them, signaled with a jerk of her head, and they followed her off the path. She angled her way toward the far corner of the building. A moment later, Brion trotted up to join them. She gave him a questioning look.

"The Teyrn sent me," he said.

Nessa frowned but kept walking, biting her lip to keep any sarcastic comments to herself. Apparently Fergus still didn't believe that his baby sister was an experienced warrior rather than someone who needed protection. But she shouldn't badmouth him in front of Brion, so she kept her thoughts to herself.

They approached the building, then turned to walk down the south side. It was quiet but for the wind gusting through the grass and the cry of the seagulls overhead. The windows were dark and opaque from the thick layer of soot that coated them. The walls looked to be in fine shape, but the grass verge was tangled and long, and walking through it was like trudging through sand.

Nessa was irritated, both at Fergus for not trusting her skills and at herself for falling so dutifully into the role of younger sibling. True, it was the life she'd been trained for; but she'd thought that one of the few benefits of becoming a Gray Warden had been leaving all the protocol and politics behind. Odd that she could say she missed anything about the blight year, but she did; recent weeks in the palace had made her long for the days of traveling with companions who had become friends, setting her own schedule and saying anything that popped into her head. But thanks to Fergus, she was once again stuck playing politics; at least until he and Anora could be convinced to release her or she heard back from Warden Command at Weisshaupt.

Towards the back of the castle, the residence wing jutted out before them. The keep had originally been square, with turrets at each corner. Some Cousland ancestor had decided to expand, knocking down one turret to build a new wing. The effect from the outside was unbalanced, but inside the new wing was more comfortable, with large rooms and more frequent windows.

Someone had been at work here — several of these windows were shattered, and debris littered the ground below. Nessa kicked one of the smaller pieces. Zevran raised an eyebrow at her, but she shook her head.

Just as they approached the far corner, there was a crash of breaking glass. Nessa and Zevran drew their weapons and moved quietly and quickly towards the source of the noise, the other two following cautiously behind them.

As they rounded the corner, they saw one of the upper windows had been broken. A large bundle of fabric blocked it, jerking sharply as someone shoved at it from the inside. Suddenly it popped free, dangling from the sill on a length of rope. A dark head leaned out to check the package's progress toward the ground.

Something whooshed by Nessa's ear; a moment later, an arrow buried itself into the rope. The rope vibrated as the few strands that hadn't been sliced through took on the extra weight; a second later those too snapped under the strain, and the package went tumbling to the ground. When Nessa looked over her shoulder, Brion was lowering his bow with a small but satisfied smile.

"A fine shot," said Zevran.

Nessa didn't have time to decide if she was pleased or not before the man in the window spotted them and shouted. A scuffle sounded from inside.

"Brion — go around the back and warn Fergus," Nessa snapped out. "Take Haft with you. We'll go back to the front to block the door." She turned on her heel and followed Zevran, who was already sprinting back the way they had come.

* * *

  


There was no sign of activity when they arrived. Nessa attempted to pull open the large wooden doors, but the heat from the fire had evidently fused the latching mechanism; they groaned in protest but did not open. Zevran waved her aside to investigate. Fergus burst around the corner, Haft and Brion on his heels. The rest followed a moment after.

"Someone has certainly been entering through here," Zevran said, indicating the gap where the bottom hinge from one door had come apart. The lower edge of the wood had been heavily burned, leaving a gap between the door and the frame. Someone appeared to have helped this gap along by breaking away the burned wood; a slender man or elf could likely push through the resulting hole with relative ease.

Zevran's finger lightly brushed a bit of hair that had been caught in the splintered wood. It certainly didn't look animal.

He looked to Nessa, who looked at Fergus. Fergus frowned and rubbed the back of his neck.

"They'll have to be replaced anyway," he said. "We might as well knock them in. Turi?"

The heavyset man examined the area for a moment, then stepped back and gave the broken hinge side of the door a mighty pound with one of his feet, leaning his whole weight behind it. The upper hinge gave way with a shriek and the whole mechanism toppled to the floor with a groan of metal and the snap of splintering wood. Fergus clapped him on the back and led the way inside.

Castle Highever had been built as a defensive keep rather than as a palace. Rooms were tucked around the perimeter of the walls, with wide connecting corridors open to the sky. The main hall stood alone in the center as a separate defensible building. Arl Howe's men had been expected as allies; the main doors had been open for them to walk straight through. After the treachery was known, they'd had to smash their way through the inner doors into the hall.

That doorway now lay open before them, clogged with rubble. There was a clatter in the left hand corridor as the looters raced toward the doors. All three of them stopped abruptly when they saw who was waiting, and after a moment's confusion they turned tail and fled back the way they had come.

Zevran and the sergeant took a few steps after them before looking back for orders. Nessa and Fergus looked at one another.

"Shall we not go after them?" Zevran asked urgently.

"Yes, go," Nessa said. "Fergus and I will stay here, to…"

"To guard the doors," finished Fergus. "The keep is a circle; they may come back this way."

They went, the sergeant snapping something to Turi as she passed. He grabbed Brion and veered off to the right, heading around the other side of the hall towards the kitchen. Haft and Kelwyn went after them.

The Cousland siblings retreated to cover the front doors. There wasn't much to the entrance hall anymore; all the tapestries and furniture had burned. It was just an empty stone space.

Nessa dragged a finger across the wall, wiping away the outer layer of soot. She looked at it for a moment and then wiped her hand on her pants.

"I'm sorry about my hesitation there," she said, "I'm just not quite ready…"

"Neither am I," her brother said, running a hand across his jaw. "It's hard enough being here. I'll need to see… where they died. But not like this."

Some minutes later, they heard the clank of armor as the guards returned down the hall. With them was a gaunt looking man with unkempt hair and a surly expression.

"I'm sorry, Ser," said the sergeant. "The others got away through a broken window." She nudged the surly man forward. "This fellow wasn't quite so lucky."

"He was trying to sneak back through the rear wing," Zevran added, "most likely hoping to pick up his treasures along the way. What shall we do with him, Warden?"

"First off, let's ask some questions." Nessa glared at the man. "What are you doing here? Did you think you wouldn't be caught?"

The man didn't seem to hear her questions; he was looking her over with surprise and suspicion.

"So Nessa Cousland is the infamous Grey Warden," he said. "The Warden who turned on the true king and put Logain's little bitch on the throne."

He twitched forward. The movement took the sergeant by surprise, but not Zevran. His knife was at the man's throat before he'd finished shifting his weight.

"Come come, my friend. Is that any way to speak to a lady?" Zevran asked in a deceptively pleasant voice. "Perhaps you should mind your manners as a guest in this fine castle."

"Fine castle," the man snorted. "It's a ruin, is what it is. That's how she left it."

Nessa was still trying to make sense of what the man had said. The true king? But Cailan had died at Ostagar.

The intruder wasn't finished. "My Elan was lying here in her own blood, left for dead, while she was off with the Grey Wardens to have an adventure!"

"Elan…" Nessa gasped. "What happened to her?"

"She died," the man said flatly. "Just not right away. They beat her and left her there to burn." His voice was rough with grief. "We found her two days later, when the fires died down enough for us to come claim our dead. We carried her back home, but it was too late." He fixed angry dark eyes on Nessa. "She'd just time to tell us what happened before it was over."

"It wasn't… there wasn't anything I could have done," Nessa said, trying to keep her voice steady. She could see in her mind's eye — Elan tidying up her room, singing a snatch of tune as she folded the clothes. She'd had a pretty voice, sweet and pure.

"Funny though, isn't it?" The man's voice cut through her thoughts. "The nobles always survive while the working folk die."

"My parents didn't survive," she snapped. "And neither did Howe — I killed him myself."

The prisoner looked surprised for a moment, but quickly returned to his anger. "And then you went off to play kingmaker, cutting out the royal blood in order to put the traitor's daughter on the throne. Friend of yours, wasn't she?"

Nessa drew an angry breath, but Fergus cut her off. "That's enough."

Zevran seemed to agree. "Shall I make an example of him?" he asked, pressing his dagger more strongly against the man's neck.

"No," said Fergus firmly. "He's a Ferelden citizen, and a subject of Highever. What's your name, man?"

"Kurn," the prisoner answered stiffly.

"Elan was your daughter?"

Kurn started to nod, then had second thoughts about the knife still touching his neck. "Yes, Ser."

Fergus gestured for Zevran to lower the knife; Zevran looked for Nessa's nod before easing back.

"I'm sorry for your loss," Fergus said to Kurn in a softer voice. "Elan was a sweet girl; she will be missed. What happened here was a terrible tragedy. You were not the only one to suffer a loss. With the blight on top of everything else, it's been a difficult time for all of us."

Then he crossed his arms. "However. You've made some mistakes, haven't you, Kurn?"

Kurn looked down uncomfortably. "Yes, Ser," he mumbled.

"But now you know — the Teyrn of Cousland is back, and I will defend what is ours. Make sure your friends know; spread the word. In fact — we're planning to rebuild, and we're going to need help. We'll be coming to town for materials and labor. I'd like you to pass that message along as well."

Kurn nodded.

"Then you are free to go," said Fergus. He stood aside, gesturing for the guards to clear a path. Kurn lost no time moving toward the door.

"Friend Kurn," Zevran called after him, "mind you do as the Teyrn says and leave the castle and the Warden alone. I'd hate to have to come find you." He flipped his dagger into the air, caught it neatly, and flashed the man a feral smile.

Kurn fled through the open door at a dead run, his footsteps quickly fading away into silence.


	5. Chapter 5

They spent the next hour surveying the older sections of the castle. The kitchens were all but destroyed. The fire had done the most damage there and in the servant's quarters, where the furniture and wall hangings had almost entirely burned away. It appeared that the locals had cleared out whatever bodies had remained, most likely using the kitchen entrance, which had been jammed closed but not locked. Many of the Cousland guard and servants had grown up in the town of Highever and still had family there; Nessa was glad they'd had a chance at a proper burial rather than being left in the open for scavengers.

The lengthening shadows gave Fergus and Nessa an excuse to stop there. They decided to set up an indoor camp in the Hall. Since they had no working front door, it seemed wise to stay close to the main entrance in an area that could be easily defended. Besides, the hall fireplace was in good shape; they could use it for light and heat as well as for cooking. Turi gathered up the broken benches from the chapel along with half-charred furniture from the guards' quarters to use for fuel, and Nessa took Kelwyn aside to continue his lessons in camp cookery.

The dusk was shading towards black when Zevran materialized out of the shadows, carrying the looter's bag.

"I have found the booty that our friends were so anxious to liberate," he said, laying the items out on the table for Fergus to see. "Small metal, mostly — candlesticks, bowls, a few bits of jewelry. Things that would not have burned away. Some coin, as well. And this shield is what made the bag so bulky; perhaps from one of your guards? An amateur job at best — no wonder it took them so long to get away!" He gave an amused shake of the head. "And they bent some things trying to shove them through the window. But better for you that they were so unskilled, yes?"

He dug into the bottom of the bag for a handful of coins, and laid them out in neat piles by denomination as he continued. "The bedrooms have been well picked over by scavengers, but there were no fires there. Though I am afraid I also came across what was likely the family vault… that is not in so good a state."

Nessa looked up from where she'd been peeling a few wrinkled potatoes that had survived in the cellar beneath the kitchens. They were shriveled and smelt of smoke, but they'd help thicken the stew.

"The vault was open," she said. "Mother and I stopped there on our way to the fight, and we were in too much of a hurry to lock up when we left." She stood up and moved toward her gear. "I still have the family sword. I haven't used it in ages but I just couldn't let it go, even though it meant carrying the extra weight around."

She pulled out the well-wrapped blade and loosened the protective covering so her brother could see the family crest on the hilt, then handed it to him.

"We didn't take much else with us that night," she said. "The other things have been lost, I suppose — including mother's key."

Fergus nodded, running his fingers lightly over the crest on the hilt. He drew breath to say something, but his eyes slid towards Zevran and he pressed his lips together. He gave the blade another long look before re-wrapping the sword and handing it back to his sister.

"It looks like you've taken good care of it," he said. "Keep it a bit longer. Once we get new doors in and find a locksmith to re-key the vault, we can return it to its proper place."

* * *

 

"I was thinking," he said to her a short while later, "about the family quarters. We've been putting it off, but… if I don't go look, it will be on my mind all night. I probably still won't be able to sleep, but…" He rubbed his forehead. "Do you want to go together?"

"Yeah," she said. "I think we should."

They lit a pair of torches and started down the passage towards the rear wing. Bits of rubble crunched under their feet as they walked. Off to their right the passageway to the kitchens was eerily dark. In all her life, Nessa couldn't recall a time when that hallway had not been lit.

"We really need to get the sconces fixed," she said.

"Mmm," agreed Fergus.

They walked the rest of the way in silence until they reached the double doors to the rear hallway.

"Ready?" he asked.

She nodded. Fergus pushed open the door and stepped through.

There may not have been fire in this wing, but there was plenty of damage. The looters they'd caught today had clearly not been the first. A glance into the first guest suite showed that linens had been stripped from the beds, chests lay open with their contents spread across the floor, and some of the tapestry wall coverings were missing. The second suite looked much the same.

Fergus shook his head, scowling as he stepped back into the hall. Nessa followed him to his own rooms. He lay a hand against the wood of the door for a moment before pushing it open. These rooms had received the same treatment as the others; bed curtains ripped down, a table knocked over, storage chests open and empty. But Fergus' eyes were drawn to the center of the room and what had conspicuously not been taken.

The large hand-knotted rug that his wife had brought with her from Antiva still lay in the middle of the floor. It was stained with blood, the center design almost indistinguishable. Fergus dropped to his knees in front of it, reaching out to touch the fiber.

The firelight flashed wildly; Nessa stepped up and took his torch before he could drop it.

"Mother and I found them here; they were together," she said, her voice rough. "At least they had that."

Fergus broke into chocking sobs, his fingers still working the carpet's fringe. Embarrassed and close to tears herself, Nessa turned away to find somewhere to stash his torch. She found a bent but usable bracket in the corner of the room, and slid it into place. The light wavered a moment before growing steady.

She moved back towards Fergus, but hesitated some distance behind him. It had been a long time since she'd seen her brother cry. He was nearly silent, but his breath came in gasps and his shoulders jerked. He had dropped forward so far that his head was almost to his knees. She took another step toward him.

"Can you… give me a moment?" he choked out.

She nodded, then realized he couldn't see her. "Of course. I… I'll be across the hall if you need me."

 

Across the hall was her own room; she pushed the door open cautiously and stepped inside. She stowed her torch in a sconce and looked around sadly at the mess. The thieves had been at work here too. Her books hadn't been taken, but they were strewn about the room; automatically she knelt down to retrieve them. She laid four or five volumes in a stack before looking up to realize the shelves had been torn from the wall. She stood up with a sigh, leaving the pile on the floor.

She crossed to the bedside table and ran her fingers across the wood of the tabletop, scored with new scratches. The polished wood box that had held her jewelry was gone, along with its contents. So many memories had been inside; a ring of her mother's that she'd borrowed and never returned, her first pair of earrings, the jeweled cloak pin that had been her grandfather's. She sank back to sit on the bare mattress and ran her hands over her face.

She wasn't sure how long she'd been there when she noticed the darker patch of shadow just outside the door. The ground outside was strewn with debris, and she hadn't heard a sound… even so, she was suddenly nervous. She was unarmed; even her torch was across the room. She raised her head slowly and studied the shadow out of the corner of her eye. It didn't move.

It wasn't darkspawn; she'd be able to feel that. She didn't think one of the guards or the looters would be able to stay so still for so long, and Howe's men were long gone. She pursed her lips. There was something familiar about the shape.

"Zevran," she said out loud, trying not to let it sound like a question. "Did you need something?"

There was a long silence, and she began to feel foolish. Now she was talking to shadows, she thought. What next?

But eventually the shadow spoke.

"Nothing in particular, no."

She waited, listening. No further sound came from the doorway; Fergus was silent across the hall. There was only the faintest whistling of wind through a broken window somewhere down the corridor.

"Are you going to stay out there or what?" she asked finally.

The shadow shifted, slowly resolving into elf shape as Zevran moved toward the flickering light of the torch. He picked his way delicately and silently across the mess on the floor, and came to sit beside her on the bed.

Nessa bit her lip, and shifted closer to lean against his shoulder.

"This was my bedroom," she said, unnecessarily. "But all my things are gone."

He cleared his throat lightly. "Not everything," he said. "The furniture still appears to function. I also see that you have a very fine library… though I fear it is rather disorganized. Your tutors would no doubt be disappointed in you."

Nessa smiled wanly at her knees.

Zevran tilted her jaw up with his fingers, running his thumb gently across her pointed chin.

"A very wise woman once told me that the Antiva which I so much miss would always be there in my heart. The same is surely true for the castle of your childhood, yes?"

"Oh Zev," was all she could manage.

He released her chin to brush a tear from her cheek. The kindness was too much; she wrapped her arms around his waist and buried her face in his neck as a sob burst out.

Zevran shifted slightly as if taken by surprise; his move to free his arm and wrap it around her shoulder was unexpectedly awkward.

"Hush,  _bella_ ," he whispered into her hair.

"Sorry." She tightened her arms around him briefly, and tried to get her breath under control.

"I hate crying," she said once she could manage a full sentence. She loosened one arm to rub roughly at her face. "Makes me feel like such a  _girl_. How is Fergus?"

Zevran cocked his head and listened. "He prays, I think."

Nessa nodded. They sat in silence for another minute. His arm was warm around her, and the smell of the spicy soap he favored was comfortingly familiar. His chin rested lightly on the top of her head. She thought about how odd it was to have him be the taller for a change. And it was odder still for him to allow her to cuddle up against him like this without making any sort of pointed sexual remark. Suddenly self-conscious, she pulled out from under his arm and scooted away to sit with her back against the headboard.

"I'm worried about what Elan's father said today," she said, looking up at the ceiling. "About the 'true king'."

"As am I. He means Alistair, yes?"

She was a little ashamed at how relieved she was that he'd said it for her.

"That's what I'm afraid of, yeah."

"And someone has fed him these stories. The words did not seem like they came from his own head."

"You're right," she said, prying her eyes off the ceiling and sitting up straighter. "It sounded odd. Besides no one even knew who Alistair was until the Landsmeet. There was plenty of gossip after that, but he was long gone by the time they'd have found out way up here. It doesn't make sense." She chewed on her thumbnail. "I wonder if a scouting mission down the hill to town might be in order. Maybe we can figure out where the story is coming from. Would you mind…?"

"It would be my pleasure," said Zevran. "I do love a good hunt. I'll snatch a quick sleep and leave before dawn."

He stood and offered her a hand. She allowed him to pull her to her feet, and went across the hall to check on her brother.


	6. Chapter 6

Nessa woke the next morning to the shuffling sounds of the guards getting ready for the day. She blinked blearily, and looked around. No sign of Zevran — had she missed him? She climbed out of her bedroll and reached for her boots.

Somewhere behind her there was a crash that made her jump. Kelwyn had dropped one of the buckets he'd been carrying. Thankfully, it was empty.

"Sorry Ser," he said anxiously. "I hope I didn't startle you."

"Nope," she said, climbing to her feet. "Did Zevran leave already?"

"Yes Ser. You've only missed him by a few minutes, I think. Sorry."

"It's not important," she said. "But I think I'll run up to the tower to see him off. Want to come?"

His face lit up. Then he looked down to his buckets and his smile faded.

"I'll help you bring in the water after," she said. "It will be faster with two. Come on."

They left the buckets at the foot of the stairs and climbed to the top of the eastern watch tower. Kelwyn stopped at the top of the stairs to admire the sunrise, which flushed the sky with pink. Far below them, the path that led to the town of Highever ran toward the cliffs before twisting down to the harbor below. With some difficulty, Nessa picked out a darker patch of black moving along the road. The dark form paused for a moment, as if to look back; Nessa raised a hand. The figure waved back at her and continued on his way.

"Do you see him?" asked Kelwyn, bounding over to join Nessa.

"He's just there," she said pointing. "He waved — you missed it, watching the sunrise." She leaned against the cold stone wall for a moment to admire it. "It's going to be a pretty one."

Then she smiled and ruffled his hair. "But we've work to do. Mustn't keep Fergus waiting. Let's go."

She spent the morning side by side with the boy, washing down the walls and floors of the hall with rags and a tattered old mop that they found in the barn. The guards and Fergus carted out the old furniture and swept up rubble. It was the sort of work any laborer could do, but Fergus had agreed to wait on hiring help until Zevran came back. Once he and his men descended on the village, they'd become the latest cause for gossip, and the details of the 'true king' story might be forgotten.

Cleaning up the keep was just as tedious as Nessa had feared. It kept her body busy but her mind was all too free to wander. She kept thinking about Kurn and what he'd said. It was a disturbing sign of the country's unrest that even a laborer felt comfortable calling his queen a bitch in front of witnesses. Nessa had thought Anora was well-liked when Cailan had been king. What had happened? Was it Logain's betrayal of Cailan that caused this shift in opinion? Did people blame Anora somehow for the effects of the blight on the land? She wondered if Zevran was finding out anything useful.

In the afternoon, she moved on to the servants' quarters, shoveling burnt remains of furnishings into a wobbly old wheelbarrow for Turi to push out and dump back behind the garden. It was smokey, filthy, backbreaking work.

"I think my lungs need a bath," she croaked to Fergus over dinner that night.

He frowned. "You sound terrible. Maybe you should stay out of there tomorrow. We've got to clear out the outbuildings — you could work on that."

"I guess," she said without enthusiasm. "Land of spiders, here I come. At least they won't be cave spiders— those were larger than mabari." She shuddered. "I wonder if Zev will be back tonight or not."

"He didn't say?" asked Fergus.

She shook her head. "My guess is it will take him a while to work out his approach. Maybe we'll see him tomorrow."

She tossed and turned that night, her legs getting tangled up in her bedroll. Her body was tired, but her brain just kept going around in circles. She worried — for Anora, for Fergus, for Zevran. She worried for Alistair, wherever he was. There was nothing she could do about any of it; she just needed let go and get some sleep. But sleep eluded her.

* * *

 

By the next morning, she knew she wasn't going to be able wait through another entire day. Afterward breakfast, she outwardly followed Fergus' suggestion, heading out one of the storage sheds. This one used to hold the training equipment — most of it was gone, and the racks had been torn down off the walls. She thought about hauling out the pieces… and shook her head.

She peeked out the door. No one was in sight. Quickly but quietly she headed for the road.

She'd just completed the first switchback of the path down the cliff when she heard the thud of hasty footsteps behind her. She turned quickly, wishing she'd brought her sword. The man was almost on top of her by then — he was very fast — but it turned out to be Brion.

"What is it?" she asked.

"I'm to come with you," he said simply.

Nessa made a frustrated noise. Strategically speaking, the fact that all the approaches to Castle Highever were highly visible was a benefit. From the perspective of a girl who'd been trying to sneak away from the castle almost as long as she'd been able to walk… Nessa had found it to be a decided disadvantage.

"Fergus," she said between gritted teeth, "is an idiot. He hired you all to help with reconstruction, not to follow me around."

"Begging your pardon, Ser. The Teyrn gave me permission, but the orders came from the elf."

Nessa snorted. "Zevran isn't here. And doesn't have any authority over you anyway."

Brion gave her a small smile. "Yes, Ser, I know; but he spoke to me before he left."

"What exactly did he say?" she asked, annoyed.

"He said I had a pretty arm with a bow, Ser, and that you needed someone to watch your back if you decided to go exploring. Fergus wanted to send Turi, but the elf said someone fast would be better."

"Oh he did, did he. And what else did he say?"

Brion cleared his throat. "Well, he said… he, uh, had a special liking for archers, Ser."

Nessa waved her hands for him to stop. "Yes, all right, that's enough. I get the idea. And this flattery made you want to take his orders, did it?"

Brion flushed. "No Ser."

"I see. Did he threaten you?"

"No Ser, not… not exactly."

She raised an eyebrow.

"His smile had a lot of teeth in it, all of a sudden," he explained. "Like a dog, you know? One minute they're happy and the next… it changes, somehow. But I'd have done what he asked anyway. We've all talked about it and we're pretty sure he could take any of us in a fight; maybe all of us together too. I figure he knows what he's talking about."

Nessa shook her head in annoyance, then turned and resumed walking down the path.

"Come along if you have to," she said, not bothering to hide how cross she was. "It doesn't sound like I have any choice in the matter."

She trudged down the next few switchbacks without speaking. Brion dropped back and walked a very respectful two steps behind her. It was irritating. It was especially irritating when she started to feel guilty. None of this situation was actually Brion's fault, after all. She looked back over her shoulder.

"So where did you learn to shoot like that?"

Brion brightened and hurried to catch up with her.

"I was apprenticed to an herbalist, a friend of my father's. He taught me to shoot once he realized I was pretty hopeless with plants. He used to take me along on his collecting trips, to mind the camp and back him up in case of wolves or bandits."

"And did you see any?"

"Wolves, a couple of times. Bandits only once. When the refugees started coming, though, it got a lot more dangerous. The blight changed things."

"Yes, it did," she agreed.

The silence that followed wasn't happy, but it was at least friendlier.

When they reached the outskirts of town, Nessa stopped.

"Here's what we're going to do," she said, reaching into the pouch at her belt. "You're going into the Green Goose, to have an ale and a gossip. Tell the truth, but leave me out of it. You might ask about Old Tom and his family over at the mill; find out if they're still around — we'll need lumber for the castle."

She pulled out a few coins, and held them out towards Brion. He made no move to take them.

"Aren't you coming, Ser?" he asked.

"No," she said. "I want to stay out of this. I grew up here; people will know me."

"But you were going to do it before…"

"No — my plans are unchanged. I'm going to pop into the tanner's here and get a bit of leather. Then I'm going to sit down on that nice bench over there and fix my boot." She pointed down to where her ankle strap was frayed. "I'm not going anywhere else, and I'll stay in plain sight. The Goose is just across the way," she said. "If you sit close to the door, you should be able to see me. Try not to be too obvious, all right?"

Brion scratched his forehead. "What's the point of coming all the way down here to fix a boot? We could have done that at the castle — Turi's smart about fixing things."

"You're not getting it. This is a small enough town that if there's been any trouble with Zevran, people will be jumpy and gossipy. Plus, if he needs anything, this gives him an opportunity to find me. I'm not making a fuss, I'm just passing through and taking a listen. See?"

"I suppose," said Brion, frowning slightly.

"Anyway, we can't both sit around fixing my boot. That would look strange. Here," she said, handing him the money. "Don't let Vale talk you into trying the sausage. Stick with the stew — the fish will be fresh."

Luck was with her, and the girl behind the counter in the tanner's shop was young and bored and didn't recognize Nessa. She smiled politely enough, but made no attempt at small talk. Nessa took her purchase outside and settled on the bench, under the overhang of the shop roof. She pulled off her boot and measured the new strap against the old one. Then she pulled a small knife from her belt and set to boring holes in the new leather.

The main street was fairly empty at this hour of the morning. It wasn't a market day, and most villagers were working in the fields or out fishing in the bay. The people of Highever were lucky — the ocean hadn't been affected by the blight. They'd be far better off come winter than the farmers who lived in the Bannorn. Each house she could see had at least one string of cod hung out from the rafters to dry in the late summer sun.

Brion had gone reluctantly to the tavern. He peered out at her occasionally as he drank his ale and made small talk with the staff. Nessa kept half an eye out on the square as she worked, humming softly to herself. This was much more pleasant than hauling broken furniture.

She'd been there half an hour or so when a low voice observed, "A beautiful morning for a walk, is it not?"

"It is," she answered without looking up.

"Have you seen anything that interests you thus far?"

"Nope, everything seems pretty quiet." A quick glance showed that the street before her was still empty. She wasn't quite sure where Zevran's voice was coming from. The rafters, maybe?

"Indeed. And how is your presence here expected to maintain that state of affairs?" he asked.

"I just wanted to check in," she said. "You're missing all the fun of hard manual labor. And you know I'm dying to know what's going on."

"Patience is a virtue, no? And curiosity killed the cat. You're interrupting my work,  _bella_. Go home. And take Brion with you — he's worrying the tavern keep."

"When will you be back? Tonight?"

"Perhaps. Or perhaps in the morning."

"All right," she said with a sigh, working the new strap through the loops of her boot. "Happy hunting."

There was no response. Either he was already gone, or he was annoyed with her for meddling. She wasn't too worried. Even if he was grumpy about being interrupted, Zevran never stayed angry for long. She slid her boot on, buckled it up, and set out across the square to fetch Brion.

* * *

 

Zevran moved carefully along the crawl space under the roof of the tanner's shop. Once he'd slid aside the vent cover at the far end, it was an easy jump to reach the rafters of the building across the alley. He pulled himself up onto the roof and paused to take a quick look around. It was near mid-day and town was quiet — it would be child's play to slip back along the rooftops undetected so long as he stayed away from the side that bordered the main square.

He travelled at an easy pace, moving with deliberate care despite the heat of the shingles on his bare feet. It was unlikely that anyone would look up to see him here, but quick motion might draw unwanted attention. He worked his way slowly around the buildings that formed the outside of the square until he'd reached the tavern.

Once there, he climbed to the roof's peak, and looked down. Nessa had collected Brion as promised, and was talking animatedly to him as they moved toward the road out of town. Her arms swooped in a wide gesture, the cuffs of her shirt loose and flapping. He shook his head in silent amusement. He should have expected her visit. She recognized the beauty of a subtle plan, but she no more had the patience to carry one out than she had wings to fly. Her headlong rush into life was quite charming, but she was a liability in a situation such as this.

He waited until the pair of them were out of sight. When the coast was completely clear, he slid down the the back edge of the roof and lowered himself to hang from the rafters. He reached out with his toes to grasp the sill of the open window below. A quick check revealed that the curtains were half drawn, as he had left them. He perched there quietly for a time, listening, until he was convinced that the room was indeed empty. Then pressing his weight forward onto the wall, he let go of the roof. One hand reached down to grasp the top of the window frame as he angled his slide to drop quietly into the room. He collected his boots from where he'd hidden them under the bed and slipped them on, then went to the window to wipe away the signs of his footprints. A quick look around to make sure he'd left no trace behind, and he went to the door.

The corridor was empty except for a young woman in a simply cut brown dress and apron. She was dragging a broom along the floor in a halfhearted sort of way, as though her thoughts were elsewhere. Zevran slipped out the door and stepped quietly along the hallway towards her.

There was a noise from the floor below, and the young woman rushed forward to look over the bannister. What she saw apparently disappointed her, and she turned away to resume her sweeping.

"Looking for me?" asked Zevran, leaning against the wall behind her.

For an instant, her face lit up with pleasure. Quickly, she recovered her composure and gave an angry sniff.

"And why should I be looking for you? I've more important things to do."

Zevran's smile never faltered. "Sweeping is so terribly urgent, no?" He chuckled when she flushed. "You should look for me, lovely one, because I am clearly the only one here who is clever enough to understand you."

He pushed away from the wall and prowled toward her. "A woman such as yourself is wasted on this tiny backwater town. Beauty such as yours belongs in the city, where it can be properly seen and admired."

Unwittingly, the girl took a step forward.

"I've always wanted to go to the city," she said wistfully.

"Denerim is an exciting place. The rush of the crowds, the exotic smells of the market, the beautiful homes of the nobles, the grand royal palace – as I told you last night, I have often stayed there myself. I could take you inside, perhaps introduce you to Her Majesty the Queen. You would love it. And the city would love you. Better still, if I were to take you to Antiva, where I come from… there you would be showered with praise for your dark haired beauty. Poets would write about the fire in your eyes."

Her eyes did have a sort of shine to them as she listened, excitement giving her a prettiness beyond her normal looks. Her fingers relaxed around the handle of the broom, as her thoughts turned to the adventures she could have, if only she weren't stuck cleaning rooms all day.

Zevran gave her a knowing smile and reached out to touch her, drawing his thumb slowly across her cheek, then cupping the side of her face. Her eyes half closed, and she leaned into the caress. With his other hand, he wrapped one of her dark curls around a long slender finger.

"Painters would break their brushes in frustration because they could not capture the wild rapture of your hair."

She gave a soft sigh. He loosed her hair to ease the broom from her lax grasp, leaning it against the wall. He never took his eyes off her face.

"If only I could show you," he said, his voice husky. "Show you how a woman such as yourself ought to be adored and idolized. Show you how a goddess should be worshipped."

She stepped forward into his waiting arms.

 

Sometimes it really was just too easy.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note: The opinion of certain Antivan assassins do not necessarily reflect the opinions of the author.

The sun was low in the sky when Fergus went hunting for Nessa. He found her outside in the dirt. She looked up from where she was kneeling at the sound of approaching feet and wiped a stray hair out of her eyes with muddy fingers, leaving a streak of dirt on her cheek.

"The kitchen garden? How downright domestic of you," he said.

"I haven't even done anything to be punished for!" Nessa said, throwing up her hands in a credible imitation of her younger self. Then she sighed. "Nan would be furious to see it in this state."

"Nan was always furious," he said with a sad smile.

"Not with her favorite, she wasn't," Nessa retorted in her best little sister voice. Fergus rolled his eyes and she smiled.

"Anyway," she said, "I thought I should see what's here that we can use. The turnips are still going, but I suspect the roots are too woody to eat — the leaves are fine though. There might be some potatoes that haven't sprouted, but we won't know until we dig them up."

She gestured to a bramble at her left. "The beans too far gone to be much use for anything but seed for next year. On the other hand, the herbs are fine, and the mint is trying to take over that whole corner of the garden, so we're set on tea if anyone wants it."

The tour complete, she went back to pulling weeds.

"That's better than it could be," Fergus said. "Andras and Turi have gone hunting — maybe they can get us some rabbit to go with those greens. Do you want me to send Kelwyn out to help you?"

Nessa made a face and shook her head. "That child had never even  _seen_  a garden before yesterday; he's got no idea which plants are weeds and which are edible." She squinted up at Fergus. "Where did he come from, anyway?"

"His uncle ran a tavern out by the docks in Denerim. Not a particularly nice place, but I went a few times before… before. He has no idea where his parents are, or if they made it. I recognized him when the rescue crew pulled him out. He's clever enough and tractable… I thought I'd see if I could do anything for him."

Fergus dropped down to one knee on the other side of the turnip bed and started weeding himself.

Nessa thought of Oren and her eyes stung. She blinked rapidly, looking down at the dirt. Her nephew hadn't been that many years younger than Kelwyn. Of course Fergus would have wanted to help.

They worked quietly for a few minutes.

"So… we won't do much more cleanup until we can hire on some more men," Fergus said, as he shifted to reach more weeds. "I'll hold off on it until that elf of yours gets back with the news."

"He's not my elf," Nessa said, a bit sharply.

Fergus raised his eyebrows.

"Everyone always says that," she said, tugging irritably at the weeds. "Just because my companion is an elf doesn't mean he's my servant or… whatever."

"I didn't mean to imply otherwise," he said. "Though… didn't I hear he had sworn some sort of oath to you?"

"That was ages ago," she said dismissively, "while we were gathering the armies. For all I really know it was just hot air; he  _was_  hired to kill us. But we were pretty desperate at the time… and it all worked out in the end."

She wrapped both hands around a particularly stubborn stalk and yanked. "Dad always told me to trust my gut, so I did. Anyway, I only needed him for the war; I officially released him after we retook Denerim."

"But he's still around," said Fergus.

The dandelion finally came up with a ripping sound, and she sat back on her heels. She held it up to show Fergus, pleased that she'd gotten most of the root out.

"He's at a bit of a loose end, I think," she said. "The Crows still want to kill him for defecting, so…" She waved the root in a shrug, then tossed it onto her growing trash pile and shifted over to reach the next vegetable bed.

"It's a nasty organization," she added, pulling at bits of grass. "And there's safety in numbers. It's fine by me; I'm happy to have a friend around. All the others… had things to do, once the fight was done."

Fergus looked at her thoughtfully. Nessa avoided his eyes, focusing on the dirt.

"Well," he said slowly, "Zevran has certainly been a help so far. Also, he's quite, uh… friendly."

Nessa rubbed her nose with the back of her hand and grinned.

"Isn't he, though? And he talks  _all_  the time… it drove me crazy at first. Everything would be awful — we'd be knee deep in mud and covered with darkspawn goo — and he'd say, 'This really gets the blood pumping! Speaking of blood pumping, I am reminded of a time back in Antiva…'" She shook her head. "I almost decked him… oh,  _so_  many times."

"I believe that," said Fergus with a chuckle. "Patience is hardly your best virtue."

"Anyway," she continued, pointedly ignoring that remark, "it took me a long time to figure out that his chatter is mostly to cover whatever he's actually thinking. You don't get to be a successful assassin by being transparent. Plus, it works great on strangers; the relentless cheer only gets wearing when you travel with it every day."

"So Loghain really sent the Antivan Crows after you?" Fergus asked. He own weed pile was steadily growing. Nessa wasn't the only Cousland child to have worked off punishments in the garden.

"It was Howe's idea, or so he said. Lucky for us, the Crow he hired didn't do a very good job," Nessa said with a grim smile. "Of course there were… reasons for that. Zev himself will tell you that he's not a good planner; he relies more on instinct and luck — they just happened to fail him that day." She grinned. "What he's good at is infiltration. If I were Anora I'd have hired him in a heartbeat to manage security… though I don't know if he'd actually take the job. Might be too boring, and he doesn't really like to stay in one place for long. But there's so much he could teach Guard Captain Cauthrien if she'd choke back her pride long enough to let him." She sat back on her heels. "I think I'm rambling."

"I'm used to it," said Fergus in a long suffering voice.

Nessa threw a clump of grass at him. The roots were still full of mud, and it left behind an earthen smear where it struck Fergus on the shoulder. He picked up a dirt clod to retaliate.

"Sorry! Sorry!" Nessa squeaked, darting behind the bean bushes. "Bad decision! Wait! Not in Nan's garden!"

Fergus chuckled, and tossed the dirt clod wide, missing her by several feet. "You're lucky that I'm a Teyrn now, and far above idle revenge."

"You're a Teyrn in need of a bath, is what you are."

"Oh, is that so? Maybe I'm not above rubbing your face in the dirt, you little brat!"

* * *

Nessa was tending the fire when Zevran stepped out of the shadows shortly after dark. He took in Nessa's muddy appearance with a raised eyebrow before seating himself cross-legged on top of a nearby table.

"Gardening," she said briefly.

"Indeed? Gardening would appear to be more of a full-body activity than I had realized. I shall have to give it a try sometime." He looked around. "Your brother also appears surprisingly… earthy."

Nessa grimaced. "Yes, well, I had unexpected 'help'. We're heating water for baths but it's slow going," she said, indicating two large kettles nestled close to the coals.

She called to Fergus, who looked up and frowned at the fact that Zevran had arrived without his noticing. Nessa poked Zevran in the shoulder as he watched her brother cross the room with just a little too much interest for her taste.

"I suppose you're not going to tease Fergus about his dirt," she grumbled.

"Indeed no," said Zevran. "It is a very fetching look for him. I always did like my men a little dirty."

Fergus, who had caught the last remark — as no doubt he'd been intended to — gave Zevran an uneasy smile. "Suppose you tell us what you found out."

"Yes, of course. Perhaps a week ago, a strange man came through the village. No one seems to remember catching his name, alas, nor did I get a very useful description — dark leathers, longish dark hair. Some of the women found him handsome… particularly the tavern keep's daughter. I found her to be a woman of excellent taste," he continued modestly, "if not as observant as one might wish."

"Zevran you didn't," Nessa said, exasperated.

"It is by far the quickest way to gather information," he replied unruffled. "Unguarded talk, access to the family apartments… best of all, a quick prick of the right needle and off she goes, leaving me her keys."

He staved off Fergus' attempt at interjection with a wave of his hands. "Sleeping only! She will wake safe and sound tomorrow morning in her very own bed, with rather hazy memories of how she happened to arrive there. Death is easier, of course, but it does tend to draw unwanted attention in so small a town. She may be in some trouble for deserting her duties tonight, but that is all."

Fergus subsided with a frown.

"Now," Zevran continued, "where was I? Ah yes, our dark handsome stranger. He spent two days in the tavern, buying drinks and telling stories, including the one we heard about the 'true king' and 'Loghain's little bitch'." He turned to Nessa. "It seems he never spoke of you by name — he blamed only 'the Grey Warden'. I do not think he has any idea who you are. You remember our friend Kurn seemed surprised to connect Nessa Cousland with the troublesome Warden, even though he knew you'd left the castle with your Duncan the night of the attack."

He looked back to Fergus. "I checked on our friend, by the way; so far he has said nothing of Nessa's identity. I dropped a little hint in his ear that his good behavior had been noted, and that he would be wise to keep it up."

Fergus shifted impatiently, but Nessa nodded.

"But to return to our storyteller," Zevran continued. "He let slip that he'd come from a place called West Hill, and would be heading next to Meath. I assume these names mean something to you."

"West Hill is a fortress two days from here," said Fergus. "Meath is most of a day's journey on foot, along the coast to the east."

"Maybe we should go," said Nessa.

"As you like," said Zevran.

"What?" said Fergus.

"Zev and I should go to Meath. Maybe we'll catch the guy."

"That is unlikely," interjected Zevran. "It has been a week, and he stayed here only a few days. He could be quite far away by now. I might have better luck myself alone — I would work faster without you, my Warden, no matter how you frown at me. But there is risk in that, and no guarantee of success."

"I don't want you to go alone," she said. "And you're probably right. I just wish we knew more about this guy."

"Nessa, why in the Fade —" started Fergus.

"Because if this is more than just some crank with a grudge, Anora needs to know about it," she said sharply.

"We don't know that it is."

"I'm not saving this country from the blight only to have it implode in civil war," she snapped. "I put Anora on the throne; I'll do what I can to keep her there."

"You have other obligations too," he said. "What about Highever?"

Nessa stabbed the table with her finger. "I have to think about the bigger picture," she said. "You do too, Fergus. You're the only Teyrn left in Ferelden. And yes,  _technically_  the Landsmeet can choose whoever they like, but you know they care about bloodlines — and in that case you're… well, you're almost the next in line for the throne. Whoever is after Anora could come for you too." She rubbed irritably at the dried mud on her cheek. "Particularly if they're planning to use Alistair as a puppet."

"You really think that's what this is about?" he asked.

"I really do. Look, Alistair is… well…"

"Our friend Alistair is rather emotional," Zevran interjected. "He may be the son of a king, but he's had no training for rule, and I think little natural aptitude. He could likely be easily manipulated. In Antiva, he would have been exploited in this way long ago. Royal bastards usually are, unless they are killed outright." He spread his hands, almost apologetically. "I think he would not willingly do a thing he thought was wrong. But he had a fervent hatred for Loghain. It would not, I think, be so difficult to persuade him to take Anora's place."

Fergus looked to Nessa. She nodded unhappily.

"Alistair is a good man," she said. "But what Loghain did at Ostagar… I knew he took it hard, but I didn't understand how deep it went until the Landsmeet."

"I heard gossip about what happened," said Fergus, "but none of it from reliable sources."

"He stormed out," she said. "I'm sure you heard that much. Riordan — the Orlesian Warden — suggested that we have Loghain take the Grey instead of executing him, and I agreed. I can't tell you about the joining ritual, but… not everyone survives it. Either we would have another Warden — one with considerable battle experience — or else he would be dead."

She turned away from them, stepping towards the fire. "Being a Warden is no picnic, and recruiting from the condemned is not uncommon. The suggestion was a reasonable one. If I'd known how Alistair would react…" She crossed her arms tightly. "Well, I don't know what I would have done. I knew he'd be unhappy, but we were facing a darkspawn  _army_. Two junior Wardens and an Orlesian — we were hardly qualified to lead the battle! I didn't like it, but we needed Loghain's experience. Even if I had realized how Alistair would feel… I'm not sure I could have put those feelings above a better chance to end the blight."

"And rightly so," said Zevran firmly. "We should all be glad it was you in charge at the time. Now, as charming as this stroll down memory lane has been, perhaps we should return to the point?"

"Yes." Nessa ran her hands across her face and turned back towards Fergus. "Anora. It's entirely possible that someone is trying to discredit and possibly remove her. She's already been threatened; it could be related. She needs to know about this, and the sooner the better. I think Zev and I should go back to Denerim to warn her."

Fergus frowned.

"I know," she said. "Maybe it's nothing. But if it  _is_  something, and we knew and didn't do anything about it? Are you willing to live with that? Because I don't think I am."

"You're right," Fergus said reluctantly. "If your suspicions are correct, and we did nothing…" His thumb beat out a tattoo on the tabletop as he thought.

"The roads aren't safe enough to send a messenger," he said, "even if we had one to send. And I need to be here. I guess you do have to go."

Nessa nodded. "Even if it comes to nothing, I'm sure Anora will appreciate it. I'm sorry it means leaving you here to deal with all this alone. I know you didn't want that."

Fergus shrugged and turned away. "It can't be helped. I'll manage."


	8. Chapter 8

Nessa and Zevran left the following morning. Fergus insisted on sending one of his guards with them.

"You need them," Nessa had protested.

"I don't, really. We'll bring in some work crews, and there will be plenty of people around. I'm fine; it's you I'm worried about. I'd go with you myself if I could."

"Zevran and I can handle ourselves. Can't your guards help oversee the workers?"

"Two of them will be doing just that. Now — I'm done arguing," he said gruffly. "I'll give you Brion unless you have a different preference."

"This is stupid," she said.

Fergus simply waited, grim faced.

"Oh for… you're as stubborn as Mother," she said, throwing her hands in the air. "Yes, Zevran likes Brion. Though maybe that means he ought to stay…"

"Fine," said Fergus. "Brion it is. Speak to Kegan when you get to Denerim — I want him to change his contract. Make him permanent staff; the pay increase should be retroactive. Keep him with you — no matter where you go, he is to stay under your command until I see you again. Is that clear?"

"For the hundredth time — I'm a Grey Warden, Fergus. I am not the heir of Cousland, and I wouldn't need a bodyguard even if I were."

Fergus' lips tightened. "He will stay with you until I say otherwise. This is not a request."

So much for his promise to treat her like an adult, she thought, her expression sour as she turned away.

The coast road was windy. Salt air whipped Nessa's hair out of its bindings and into a tangle. Stray locks tickled her nose and flipped into corners of her eyes, making her even more cross than she'd already been. The others didn't seem bothered, and Haft frolicked like a puppy. At least someone was happy, she thought crossly.

They walked for a good twenty minutes before she spoke.

"So. There's a fork in the road here in a little bit. Did we want to push straight on to Denerim, or should we try continuing along the coast road to Meath? It will add an extra day or so to the trip, but we might find out something interesting."

"Begging your pardon, Ser," said Brion, "But the Teyrn's instructions were to go straight to the palace."

"Alas for Fergus, he isn't here — so he doesn't get a vote," she said. "Look, if Fergus sent you along as his proxy to give me instructions… it's not going to work. I hope that doesn't put you in an awkward position."

"I hope not, Ser." He rubbed his neck uncomfortably. "To be fair… I don't think the Teyrn really expected you'd listen to me, anyway."

"I should hope not! He knows me better than that. So. Meath! Zev, what do you think?"

"However you like," he answered easily.

Nessa groaned. "The pair of you are no help whatsoever. Fine. We'll take a detour to Meath and see if we can learn anything else — then we'll go on to Denerim."

She set a brisk pace, as she wanted to reach the town early enough to do some scouting before dark. It was mid-afternoon before they climbed a ridge and saw the buildings in the distance. Zevran called for a halt. He opened his pack and pulled out a leather wallet, removed some of its contents, and carefully stored them in one of his belt pouches. Then he unbuckled his leather jerkin, stripped it off, and pulled on a linen shirt over his undershirt and brown leggings.

"Here we part ways, I think," he said, repacking his bag. "I am going down towards the docks to see what I can learn from mingling with the laborers; perhaps the market is a better place for the pair of you. Do you know where you will stay? Perhaps I shall find you there later."

He handed his pack to Nessa, who rolled it as small as it would get and attempted to wedge it inside her own while she thought.

"It's been ages since I've been out this way. There's a place called… I don't know, the Black Ram, maybe? Something to do with sheep." She gave his bag another shove.

Zevran grimaced. "Be somewhat gentle with that. We shall both be upset if the contents get broken. A ground level room would be best, if you can. If I don't find you there, is there a good place outside of town to meet?"

"Well… if you leave town by the south road, it goes back into the woods before crossing the river. We could meet at the bridge."

"That will do. I will see you tomorrow, if not before." With that, he left the road, scrambling down the sandstone rocks to the beach.

Nessa looked at Brion, and he shrugged.

"Well, if we're doing it that way…" She turned to Haft. "I'm sorry, kid, you shouldn't come with us either."

The dog whined.

"I know, I'd be happier if you could too. But you're pretty obvious. Not very many people are lucky enough to have a mabari warhound." She scratched the dog's ear affectionately. "We'll be back tomorrow, okay? Stay out of the town — you can find Zev or me in the morning. It's just overnight. We'll be fine."

The dog dropped his head. She patted him one more time, then moved towards town. Haft barked at her.

"Yeah, you be careful too!" she called back.

* * *

 

The market in Meath was easy to find, and she and Brion took a slow tour around, browsing in some of the shops and trying to blend in. Folks around her went quietly about their business. She heard some talk about the missing and the dead, and quite a bit about how poorly the crops were looking, but no one seemed to have anything to say about Denerim. Once the sun began to set, the shops closed. Nessa led the way toward the inn.

After she'd arranged for a night's lodging from the grim-faced proprietress, Nessa joined Brion at the bar and ordered a pint. The place was quiet and nearly empty. A few men slumped at a table in the corner were the only other customers. She and Brion drank in silence, neither of them really sure how to proceed. The beer had an unpleasant soapy flavor that Nessa decided not to think too much about.

She rubbed her fingers over the chipped edge of the bar as she looked around. The lights were dim, possibly to hide the cobwebs in the corners. The barman had a grim expression. She knew she'd been here with her father as a child; it was the same building. She remembered light and noise and good smells from the kitchen… all of which seemed to be gone now. She wondered what had happened — the blight, or something else?

She spent a frustrating ten minutes trying to catch the eye of the barman as he wiped down the counters. She'd been about to try pounding the bar with her fist when he finally looked at her and grunted an acknowledgement.

"Another ale, please."

He dropped his towel on the bar, picked up her mug, and carried it to the tap for a refill.

"Crops as bad here as everywhere else?" she asked, straining to sound casual.

"Aye," he said.

She waited a moment, but apparently that was all he had to say. He thunked the mug back down on the bar in front of her.

"Folks are going to be hurting, come winter," she said.

He nodded, then picked up his towel, shook it out over the floor, and used it to begin drying the stack of mugs behind the bar.

Nessa suppressed a frown and tried not to look down at her own mug. That probably explained the odd taste.

"I suppose the queen will be having to buy grain from Orlais to make up the lack. That won't sit well with anyone," she said.

The barkeep turned and spat over his shoulder. Was that for Orlais or the queen? This fellow was the least talkative barman she'd ever met. She ground her teeth in frustration.

"Strange business, having a queen," she soldiered on desperately. "Especially one that's no more noble than you or I. Doesn't seem right, somehow."

He squinted at her suddenly. "You're mighty free with your opinions for a stranger. Who might you be?"

She blinked rapidly. Of course she should have thought up a back story before speaking; it seemed obvious now. Brion was no help; he avoided her eyes and buried his face in his mug.

"Name's Elan," she said after a moment. "We're heading to Denerim, looking for work. I hear the guard is hiring."

He gave her a sour stare. "Don't expect they'll be all that interested in those that can't keep their opinions to themselves. Especially ones who don't like the queen."

"Well I guess I'll find out!" she said with a forced smile, hoping she sounded like an idiot rather than someone desperate not to get caught. It was bad when you were  _hoping_  to sound stupid. Why had she let Zevran go off alone? She was terrible at this, and he knew it. She should have kept her mouth shut.

She drank the rest of her soapy ale in silence. A while later, Brion ordered them a plate of stew to share. It arrived, grey and greasy and not quite warm enough, leaving no doubt in Nessa's mind why the tavern had so few guests for dinner. Once they'd forced most of it down, they retreated to their rooms for the night. Brion offered to stay with her, or to stand guard outside her door, but she declined.

"It doesn't make any sense if I'm a guard myself," she said in a low voice. "I'll be fine — I'll pound on the wall if I need anything."

She unlatched the door, stepped into the tiny room and wrinkled her nose. For an inn where the drinks tasted of soap, the rooms were surprisingly dirty. She wished they were out sleeping in the woods instead. She went over to the clouded window, used one of her sleeves to wipe some of the grime from the glass, and looked out.

The moon was full and bright. The inn was close to the water, and she could see that the dock workers were taking advantage of the extra light. There was a crew of elves unloading boxes down on the wharf. She watched for a while and thought she saw Zevran among them. His blonde hair was tucked way under a soft brown cap, but she'd recognize those lithe movements and slim shoulders anywhere.

Eventually the workers finished their task and moved farther down the pier out of sight. Nessa stood for some time in the darkness, watching and listening. When no one approached and nothing else happened, she eventually crawled into bed.

Sometime in the middle of the night, Nessa heard a small scratching at her window. After a moment she woke, rubbed her face, and sat up. The noise came again, so she climbed out of bed and went to the window. She slid it open and stepped aside to let Zevran climb into the room. The smells of seaweed, sweat, and cheap booze floated in behind him.

She eyed him carefully, but he didn't seem any the worse for drink as he slid the window quietly but firmly shut and lifted a weary eyebrow at her.

"The Black Ram?"

"The Black Ram, The Wayward Ewe… at least I got the animal right?"

He gave her a half smile and began removing pouches, shoes, knives. All went in a neat pile near the end of the bed.

She shivered, and slid back between the covers. The night air was uncomfortably damp. "My evening was a complete wash. You?"

Zevran had taken off his belt as she spoke; his shirts followed. As soon as his head was visible again, he said, "Our friend has been here, that much I know. But the walls have ears, yes?"

Nessa nodded. Her eyes were drawn to his tattoos, dark ink swirling down his side and across his narrow hips.

Zevran pulled the heavy blanket from the foot of the bed and climbed wearily up.

"I have a job unloading fish at dawn," he said, shuddering delicately, "so I wish to sleep. I hope to be finished by mid-morning. I'll meet you after." He wrapped the blanket around himself and curled up near the foot of the bed, against the wall.

"Zev, you don't have to... there's room for both of us."

"I stink," he said, wrinkling his nose. "There's no reason we should both have to smell it. And I will be up very early. Go to sleep,  _bella_. I will see you in the woods tomorrow."

He closed his eyes. She was surprised how quickly his breathing evened out into slumber. It took quite a bit longer for her to return to sleep.

* * *

 

True to his word, Zevran was gone long before Nessa woke. It bothered her a little that he could have moved off the bed and out of the room without waking her, but there it was. She had slept later than she intended, so once she was up she and Brion didn't linger at the inn. They took care of necessities, paid their bill, and were out the door as quickly as they could manage. The woman who ran the general store also did some baking; they purchased a selection of rolls and ate several of them standing out on the street overlooking the harbor. After, they took another rambling walk around the town before exiting by the south road.

Zevran and Haft were both waiting at the rendezvous bridge when they arrived.

"You're early," Nessa said to Zevran, kneeling down to receive welcoming kisses from Haft. "All right, that's enough, you crazy dog. I already had a bath."

"I wish I could say the same," said Zevran. "Tell me there is water deep enough to bathe in somewhere near here, or I will have to do something desperate."

Nessa laughed. "Not anywhere near the road – flames, you really do smell like fish, even from here – but we might have better luck upstream if you want to..."

Zevran was already pushing through the underbrush.

"Okay then," she said. Brion grinned and followed after them.

They tramped through the brush for nearly fifteen minutes before they spotted a pool deep enough for bathing purposes. Zevran turned to Nessa.

"You have my things, yes?"

She pulled out his pack and handed it over. Zevran immediately began searching for his soap. Brion looked from one to the other of them.

"If you don't mind, Ser, I think I'll keep going a ways. See if I can bag a grouse, maybe."

"We're in the middle of the woods, Brion — you don't have to 'Ser' me all the time. There's a time and a place, right? Happy hunting."

"Yes S— I mean, all right," he said, correcting himself. He bobbed his head respectfully before setting off into the brush.

She'd have to work on the formality thing, but Brion was all right, Nessa decided. He wasn't any more skilled than she was at spying, but he was competent in other ways and pleasant enough. If they had to bring along a new companion, he wasn't a bad choice.

She turned her eyes politely away while Zevran stripped down. He wouldn't mind an audience and it wasn't like she hadn't seen it before, but it had been dark then and… Well, maybe she shouldn't be thinking about that right now. He'd see her blush and know immediately what was up. Embarrassment to Zevran was like blood in the water to a shark.

Instead, she took off her sword belt, then opened up her pack and pulled out one of the remaining rolls from the morning. She perched on a rock, breaking the roll into chunks tossing them into the air for Haft to catch.

Once there were enough splashing noises that she figured Zevran was well involved in his wash, she risked a peek. He was submerged past his waist, leaning down to splash water onto his shoulders.

"So," she said, a bit too loudly. "No walls or ears out here. What did you find out?"

"So impatient,  _bella_. Can you not let me enjoy my bath?"

"Sorry," she said, ducking her head.

He laughed. "I tease, only. There is not much to enjoy in water so cold. What did I find... Well. The good citizens of Meath are more closed-mouthed than those at Highever—"

"No kidding," she interjected.

"But our tale-telling stranger certainly passed this way. He seems to have been trying..." Zevran paused to duck his head under the water, "to gauge the feeling of the locals as well as spreading his version of events."

He flipped back his wet hair, sending out a spray that fell just short of where she was sitting. She raised an eyebrow, and he winked as he waded towards the bank to retrieve the soap. The water there was considerably less deep; Nessa turned her eyes back to the roll in her hands as he began to work up a lather.

"I'm afraid," Zevran said as he rubbed, "feeling seemed to be pretty sympathetic to his viewpoint. The people here are wary of Anora; she's a woman, she's a commoner, she's Loghain's daughter, she has no child to serve as an heir. She may have been approved by the Landsmeet, but to people who were not there..."

"I guess I can see that," she said, still careful to keep her eyes down. "People are never happy with their rulers when times are hard, either. But it's the focus on Alistair that really concerns me. Someone thinks that he should be king —"

"Someone who has not met him, clearly." There was an unkind edge to Zevran's laugh.

She ignored him. "What I'm wondering is if they intend to do anything about it."

"There I cannot help you."

She sighed. "Did anyone know where the stranger was headed next?"

"If so, they did not share that information with me," said Zevran. There was a sound of splashing as he rinsed.

"Well," she said over the noise, "we could go on down the coast towards Amaranthine and see if we can pick up his trail. But it will take up valuable time and we may not get anything. Plus, this isn't the sort of thing I'm good at; I'm pretty sure I raised some suspicions. We're probably lucky I didn't get you into trouble too." She tossed the last chunk of roll to Haft and stood to rinse her fingers in the stream.

She was careless and caught a full frontal glimpse of Zevran standing at the water's edge, drying off. His skin was golden in the late morning light. Water dripped from the ends of his hair, down his chest and... She quickly averted her eyes.

"So I guess," she said, attempting to continue as though she'd seen nothing, "it would be best if we took the faster road to Denerim to inform the queen." She swished her hands around a bit more for good measure and stood, flicking the water off her fingers before wiping them on her shirt. She returned to her pack, still careful not to look up, and began to refasten it.

The rustle of fabric told her he was finally putting on pants. She gave it a ten count before looking up, and was almost disappointed to see he already had on his shirt as well.

"What do you think?" she asked. "You have at least as much experience with politics as I do."

"If you're asking do I think it looks fishy — no pun intended of course — yes, I think I do," he said, combing his fingers through his wet hair. "As to what we should do about it… I could not say."

She rolled her eyes. "Flames. Sometimes you're no more help than Alistair was."

He froze for half an instant, then let loose a mocking laugh.

"My dear Warden, if I am here as his replacement, you could have chosen better. For one thing, I'm capable of tending to my own socks. And if you're looking for someone to fill his armor, as it were…"

"I only meant — "

There was a crackle of snapping twigs and they both wheeled. Nessa stooped for her sword, and Zevran pulled a dagger from what looked like thin air.

Brion pushed through the brush, a dead grouse in his hand. Haft gave a welcoming bark. Nessa stood, still grasping her sword belt.

"Brion," she said. For some unaccountable reason, her cheeks flushed.

He looked from Nessa to Zevran. "Am I… interrupting something?" he asked.

Haft barked again.

Nessa slung her belt around her hips and buckled it into place. "Haft's right," she said. "We should get back to the road."


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is going to sound very familiar to any of you who've read Vanity. That story was lifted directly from this chapter, though there have been some changes since I published the short version.

The autumn afternoon had grown quite warm. Zevran filled the time as they walked by telling Brion stories of their travels across Ferelden fighting the darkspawn and of his past as an Antivan Crow. He certainly took some artistic liberties, but Nessa noticed that the changes he made tended to make the tale amusing more than anything else. She shouldn't be surprised, really; most of the stories he'd told her about his time as a Crow had seemed to paint him in a bumbling and harmless light. She hadn't been fooled; at least not for long.

They left the stream behind as the road made an abrupt turn uphill. It grew progressively steeper as they made their way inland. Once they had crossed this range of hills, the track they were on would meet back up with the North Road. Nessa thought they might make it to the summit just before it was time to stop and camp for the night, if they kept up their current brisk pace.

Haft took off after something that rustled in the underbrush; quail maybe, or grouse. She called after him but he ignored her, and she shrugged. He'd catch up after he had his snack.

They continued walking. It was hot; Nessa was sorry now she hadn't bathed with Zevran in the pool this morning; modesty be damned. And arguments be damned too. She snuck a surreptitious glance at him out of the corner of her eye. Was he still annoyed at her? His normal veneer of playful banter made it difficult to tell. She hadn't meant what she'd said, not really… it had just sort of slipped out. All this 'true king' nonsense had put Alistair on her mind, that was all.

It had just occurred to her that the woods around them had grown suspiciously quiet when they made their way around a series of large rocks and saw two men standing in the roadway.

"What did I tell you?" said the shorter one. "I said she hadn't gotten ahead of us, and here she is."

"Can I help you with something?" Nessa asked neutrally. She felt the air move behind her; Zevran was no longer at her shoulder. On her other side, Brion took a step closer.

"There she goes again," the man said. "Always asking questions, isn't she? Asking questions and saying things better left unsaid."

"No one in Meath seemed very interested in what I had to say," she replied. It was better to keep him talking, she figured, to give Zevran time for whatever it was he'd vanished to do.

"Well now, and that's what happens when a stranger comes along and expects trust without giving anything in return. Mayhap no one believed a word you said."

Nessa frowned. "You were in the tavern," she said at last. "At the table in the back."

"She's not half as dumb as she looks, is she?" said the second man.

There was a yelp from somewhere behind her, and then a thrashing of branches. It seemed Zevran had pulled someone out of a tree. She glanced back to check. The fellow lay sprawled out on the trail behind them — his neck looked broken, though she wasn't sure if it had happened because of the impact or before.

The men in front of her bellowed, and several arrows went whizzing by from somewhere off to her right, twanging into the tree. Zevran was already gone; he'd vanished back into the underbrush. Based on the number of arrows, there were at least five of them… not counting the dead one.

She reached back to work at the knots which held her shield to her pack, her fingers fumbling as she kept her eyes forward. Flames, she thought. A few months ago she would have had it free in a matter of seconds; she was out of practice.

"Call off your elf," snarled the shorter man, raising his sword and pointing it toward her chin.

Nessa gave up on the shield and drew her sword.

"He is  _not my elf_ ," she growled, and lunged forward.

She drew her eating knife with her off hand so she wouldn't be entirely one sided. This had never been her favorite way to fight, and it put her at a disadvantage against two men. Normally, she would have smashed one out of the way with her shield and attacked the other, but that wasn't going to work now. She managed to dodge a blow from the taller fellow's short sword, and caught the blade with her guard. He anticipated her next move, though, and her quick twist failed to disarm him.

Brion had pulled back and strung his bow, but he wavered, unsure of where to aim. The swordsmen were too close to Nessa to get a clear shot, so he circled off to the right in an attempt to pick off the archers in the brush behind them.

Someone darted out from the trees, and tried to use Nessa's pack to pull her down. She couldn't shrug out of it while fighting the men in front of her, so she took a few rapid steps back to try to set him off balance. This only resulted in him weighing her down further as he stumbled.

Zevran shot out from the underbrush. He sprang upon the man and slit his throat. The dead weight slid free of Nessa's shoulders, and she was able to focus her attention back on the blades swinging at her front.

A moment later, there was a fierce barking as Haft came suddenly streaking around the corner. He barreled one of her opponents to the ground.

"Where the flames have you been?" she panted.

Without waiting for an answer — which was just as well, since the dog wasn't likely to give her one — she fell on her remaining attacker with renewed fury.

Brion drew his dagger and leapt to Haft's aid, cutting the man's throat while the dog held him down. Nessa finally took out the leader, then whirled to Zevran's defense. The archers he'd been fighting in the trees had followed him, and he was now flanked by two youths armed with long knives. She engaged the closer man and let him focus his attention on the other.

Haft gave a sharp bark and darted off into the underbrush. From the crashing sounds, the last archer was making a run for it. Well, Haft would catch him. Brion shot Nessa's man in the back, dropping him where he stood.

By the time Nessa had disengaged her weapons, Zevran was already searching the bodies for valuables. She let out a deep breath and bent down to wipe her sword clean on the dead man's shirt.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Zevran straighten, then suddenly stumble.

"Zev?" she asked. "What is it?"

He had a hand clasped tightly to his side, not quite successfully covering a growing red stain on his shirt.

"My vanity. I do believe it has been struck a critical blow."

"I don't think vanity bleeds," she countered, sliding off her pack as she headed towards him. She dropped it at his feet, yanked open the ties, and pulled out the first aid kit before kneeling beside him and tugging gently at his shirt. "Let me see."

He carefully eased his hand away and pulled up his reddened shirt. A shallow slice along his flank showed where he hadn't quite moved quickly enough.

"Dagger?" she asked, reaching for a clean cloth. "You really need to do a better job watching your back, assassin."

"Well," he countered, sounding a bit breathless, "on occasion it is difficult to keep track of both our backs at the same time."

She shot him a dirty look and began wiping away some of the blood.

"Brion," she called, "bring me one of their water flasks."

"I thought for sure that fool would have you down," said Zevran. "You charge into battle like a mother bear. Nary a thought for what might be around you." He hissed through his teeth as the cloth caught against torn skin. "It's similar to the way you pry for information, it seems. Luckily, it is a beautiful back, and watching it gives me great pleasure."

"You are impossible," she said automatically, still probing the cut. She took the flask from Brion's hand without looking up. "I don't like how this looks. It's clotting already and starting to swell. I wish Wynne were here."

"There is poison, I think," he said, lightly sniffing the fingers that had been holding his side. He touched one quickly and delicately to his tongue. "Hmm. Bring me my kit?"

Nessa lurched to her feet swearing, grabbed Zevran's pack and dug into it for the padded leather wallet that held the tools of an assassin's trade.

"Be gentle with that," he interjected. "Break any of those vials and we will both be poisoned. Hand it here."

He took the wallet gently from her and untied the complex-looking knots with one hand. He folded back several layers of wool padding to reveal a set of tiny bottles, each carefully nestled in their own leather pocket and marked with a different colored rune.

"What was that you were saying?" he continued. "Ah, yes, Wynne. I miss her as well. Many are the nights I have cried into my pillow longing for her magical bosom."

His expression didn't match his lighthearted tone as his fingers hovered over the little vials, and he selected two before tucking back the wool and wrapping the wallet up securely.

"How comforted I would be to shed my lonely tears upon it this very moment," he said as he gingerly knelt down and slid the wallet back into his pack. "But as she is not here, I suppose we must do without."

He added in a different tone, "I need you to wash out the wound with spirits, as it will be difficult for me to reach."

Nessa grimaced sympathetically. Brion had already retrieved the bottle, and held it out to her.

"Thanks," she said, taking it from him. "We're going to be here awhile — can you do some cleanup?"

Brion nodded, and set about dragging the bodies off into the woods.

Nessa unscrewed the cap.

"This is going to hurt like dragon fire," she warned.

Zevran's lips twitched. "I know."

He pulled his shirt off carefully, and leaned forward. Nessa held the bloodstained cloth below the wound to control the flow and poured. He didn't make a sound as she drenched the whole area, though his muscles tightened and he panted slightly. Sweat was beginning to bead on his brow.

"Now," he grunted, handing her a vial, "three drops of this into a cup of water, and wash it again. Quickly as you can. I may..." and he stopped to grimace. "There is a chance I will be sick."

Nessa couldn't tell if his pained expression was nausea or embarrassment.

"I will try to wait until you've finished bandaging," he continued while she created the washing solution, "but you should be prepared. And perhaps you should take this so I do not break it," he said, handing her the second vial. "Do not lose it, do not put it somewhere it will get stepped on, and  _do not_  get confused about which vial is which."

A cold chill ran down her spine. Zevran never let anyone handle his tools,  _ever_ , to say nothing of his precious vials of deadly and priceless fluids. Now he was voluntarily handing them over? He must be in worse shape than she'd realized. She gingerly set the bottle with the orange rune on the other side of his pack, a careful distance away from the green one, and began to wash out the cut a second time.

He almost made it, but not quite. Nessa had finished the cleaning, and was unfolding a new piece of cloth to create a bandage when the elf dropped to his hands and lost his breakfast in the grass.

"Sorry," he panted after, not looking at her. He slowly sat back onto his heels, and Nessa handed him her own water flask.

"What's a little vomit between friends? Especially after everything we've been through," she said soothingly. But her insides were going cold with tension; Zevran was unusually pale and drenched in sweat. And he was still holding the flask as if uncertain what to do with it.

"That's plain water, safe to drink," she told him gently.

He nodded and washed out his mouth. Nessa bandaged his side and helped him slide on a clean shirt.

He held out a shaking hand. "Orange rune," he said roughly. She retrieved the bottle quickly, and passed it over.

"This will knock me out for some time, while my body processes what poison we could not wash away. I'll only have a minute or so to get settled, so be thinking about where you want me." A ghost of a smile crossed his lips as pulled out the cork and wiped the tip his finger across its underside. "Promise not to take advantage of me until I am conscious. I should deeply regret to miss it."

He slid the finger across his tongue, sucking carefully. Deliberately, he used his clean fingers to re-cork the bottle before lurching unsteadily to his feet. Nessa took his arm and helped him to a tree a few feet away. She unfolded her cloak for a blanket, and helped settle him down onto it.

"Leave bottles... put them away myself. Dangerous," he murmured with closed eyes.

"I won't touch them," she promised.

He didn't move. In fact, he didn't move again for several hours. It gave Nessa a lot of time to think.

* * *

Nessa had started a small fire, and was making fry bread. She and Brion had set up camp, and then he and Haft had set out to do some hunting. She wasn't entirely sure if they were hunting meat for dinner or stragglers from the fight; she hadn't asked.

But she was hungry and antsy and needed something to do. They would likely be back soon anyway. She combined flour and water from her flask, heated a bit of their precious supply of lard in the spider pan over the flames, and poured the thin dough on top of it. She was sealing and wrapping the lard jar when she heard movement.

"Is that bread I smell?" Zevran's voice was husky from his long sleep.

Nessa stowed away the jar in her pack and went to sit on her heels beside him. "It is. Do you feel like you could eat something?"

"Perhaps? I believe I should try," he grunted, trying to sit upright.

Nessa helped him up.

"How are you feeling?"

"As hungover as if I'd been drinking from Oghren's stash. An opportunity I would like to say I passed on when I had the chance."

She grunted sympathetically. "I'd better check on your bandages."

"Best not to unwrap anything just yet," he cautioned.

She nodded. "Let me just make sure everything's in the right place. I'm better at causing injuries than caring for them."

She pulled at his shirt, and he winced as it caught on the wrappings. "Sorry," she murmured, "and sorry my hands are cold." She pushed gently at the edges of the bandage with her fingertips, then frowned and cautiously laid her wrist against his back. "Everything's in place… but you're burning up."

"So is the bread," he observed mildly.

"Flames!" She jumped up and snatched at the fork beside the fire, poking into the bread and turning it over. She frowned at it. "I think it will be edible. We had worse when Alistair was cooking."

Zevran shuddered delicately, then winced as the motion jostled his wound. "Don't remind me."

After giving it a few seconds for the top to set slightly, Nessa flipped the bread out onto one of their tin dishes. She tended the remaining batter with more care. Once it was all cooked, she cut the bread into slices and joined Zevran on her cloak for a quick meal, eating together out of the single dish to save on washing. She took the burned pieces for herself, but couldn't help noticing that Zevran addressed himself to the food more like a man who knew he ought to eat than one who was hungry.

By the time they finished, she thought his color was better. She piled some of their extra clothing on top of him with instructions to bundle up. She wrapped the remaining bread for Brion in a towel to keep warm, wiped out the spider pan and put everything away before coming back to rejoin Zevran on her cloak.

Zevran had tidied up his potions kit and was examining his torn shirt.

"It's definitely dead," he said mournfully.

"Your shirt?" asked Nessa.

"My vanity," he sighed.

Nessa pursed her lips. How could he still be making jokes at such a time? And why was it so hard not to laugh?

"I don't see how you can be so heartless," he continued pitifully. "This is a very serious situation."

She snorted.

"It is!" he insisted. "First I blamed the too quiet forest on the dog, and allowed us to be ambushed. Then I tore my shirt, disgraced myself in battle, allowed myself to be poisoned both accidentally and deliberately, was sick before a beautiful woman, and finally, to add insult to injury, the beautiful woman didn't even take the trouble to ravish me while I was out cold."

Nessa giggled. She couldn't help it.

"Then, I pour my heart out to her in the hopes of sympathy, and she only sees fit to laugh at me." He shook his head sadly. "The world is indeed cruel."

She flopped down beside him and laughed. Once she started, she couldn't stop, tears squeezing out the corners of her eyes. He smiled down at her, looking pleased with himself.

Eventually she caught her breath, wiped her eyes, and sat up.

"In all seriousness, Zev, I was really worried. I fight in armor so people can't stick me with a poisoned dagger. Watch your own damn back." She poked him in the chest. "Don't force me to go back to giving you orders."

He grinned delightedly and opened his mouth to retort.

She quickly said, "Shut up," and pulled him into a hug.

He chuckled into her ear and hugged her back.

"And if you say a  _word_  about my breasts I will find that poisoned dagger and stab you again myself."


	10. Chapter 10

It was mid-morning when they finally reached the summit. The road fell away before them, twisting in steep switchbacks between the scrubby pine trees. Further down the valley the pines gave way to oak. Nessa could see the broken line between the trees at the bottom of the valley that must be the North Road

She glanced back. The others were just coming to a stop behind her. Zevran's forehead was beaded with sweat and his face had a grayish cast she didn't like at all. Even more worrisome, he hadn't said more than ten words since insisting vigorously in camp that morning that he was well enough to continue their journey.

"I think we should take a break," she said.

"I am fine," he said sharply.

"Did I say you weren't?" she asked, sliding her pack off her shoulders and reaching for her water flask.

Haft tried to lick one of Zevran's hands — he snatched it out of reach and glared at the dog.

"Speaking as the old man of the group, I'd be glad of a rest," said Brion, pulling off his own pack.

Nessa glanced over. Brion's color was good, his breath was even, and his eyes were bright — he didn't need a rest any more than she did. She gave him a grateful smile, and got back the shadow of a wink.

"You are none of you the least bit subtle," said Zevran, lowering himself to sit on the side of the path with a resigned expression. He pointed at the dog. "Do not think of drooling on me."

Haft gave a small whine and sat down on his haunches.

"I also doubt you are much older than I," Zevran added to Brion.

Nessa took a drink and passed her flask to Zevran before squatting down on her heels next to Haft. She rubbed the dog's ears as she considered Brion, who had sat down on top of his pack with his own water.

"I have to agree with Zevran there," she said. "You don't look thirty, surely?"

"Thirty-seven," he replied after swallowing his mouthful.

"Seriously?"

"I'll take that as a compliment," he said with a grin, wiping his chin with the back of his hand.

"So your apprenticeship was twenty years ago!" she said.

"They teach Wardens to count, I see." His smile faded slightly, and he looked down to refasten the flask.

"So where did you go after that?" she asked.

"Nowhere; I stayed with Evan. You don't need to know that much to label bottles and deal with customers," he said.

"That's likely true," she answered.

"I liked Denerim," he added. "Plenty to see and do. I'd had enough of the country."

"Speaking of Denerim, we shall never reach it if we stop to chat every hour," Zevran said. He climbed slowly to his feet. "Let us be on our way."

* * *

It was late in the evening when they reached the city, two days later than planned. By the time they arrived at the palace itself it was almost full dark. Nessa stopped just outside the courtyard to give Haft a pat and a scratch behind the ears. He licked her wrist before trotting off toward the kennels on his own.

The courtyard was well lit; a cluster of guards were receiving instruction from Guard Captain Cauthrien just outside the palace doors. Nessa pulled her shoulders back with a grimace and led the way to the entrance, hoping the woman would be too busy to stop them on their way in.

Nessa respected Cauthrien; she was a fierce warrior and her loyalty was unquestionable. However, she had made it clear she'd never forgive Nessa for Loghain's death. The fact that Zevran regularly made a mockery of her security measures — disrupting her guards and showing up in places he ought not to have been — hadn't helped matters. Nessa knew that Zevran was trying to help, in a backhanded sort of way, by pointing out the flaws in palace security… but she also knew that Cauthrien would never see past his flamboyant methods and her own pride to recognize it.

The Guard Captain dismissed her men just as they'd made it halfway across the courtyard. It was too close to pretend they hadn't seen one another, even if the Captain's sense of duty would have allowed that; she turned and waited for them with a grim expression.

"Warden," she said, crisp and formal, with a very slight nod.

"Guard Captain."

"What brings you back to the castle?" she asked. It sounded like a challenge rather than a polite inquery.

"Business for the Teyrn, mostly," Nessa said. "This is Brion — he's my official escort from Fergus. We've had no chance to make arrangements for his accommodation. Would it be possible to find him a place in the barracks during our stay? I'd house him in the Warden compound, but it's full of refugees."

Nessa figured the reminder wouldn't hurt.

"Certainly," said Cauthrien through gritted teeth. "Will you be staying for long?"

Nessa shrugged. "It depends on how things go. I hope not."

The Guard Captain called to one of the men on door duty. "Take the Teyrn’s man to the barracks and get him settled in. Also, find the Chamberlain and let him know the Warden and her companion are here and will need their rooms seen to."

The guard saluted. 

"I’ll send for you tomorrow," Nessa told Brion. "We need to meet with Fergus' steward. Just paperwork — nothing to worry about."

"Yes, my lady," he said and followed the guard into the castle.

Cauthrien cleared her throat and turned to Zevran.

"With all due respect, Ser, I must ask you to refrain from visiting the barracks during your stay. The men have much to do and can't afford to be distracted."

Zevran swept her a low bow. "Your wish is my command, my lady." His smile was suspiciously smug.

"I told you she wouldn't appreciate the loss of supplies," Nessa muttered as they made their way inside.

"Ah, but there are many places besides the barracks to gamble, are there not?"

 

They made their way across the front hall and up the steps to the second floor. At the top, they met Arl Eamon heading down. He was accompanied by a well-dressed human servant, who was carrying a carved walnut writing box. Nessa glanced at him, but she didn't recognize the man from her stay at Redcliffe. She bowed to the Arl.

"Warden," said Eamon warmly. "It is a pleasure to see you. And Ser Zevran as well."

"It's good to see you as well, my lord," she said. "Teagan told me you would be back in Denerim soon. I hope you are feeling well? You certainly look it."

Nessa hadn't known him well before the blight; perhaps her impression of him as a grim, humorless man had been due to the times. The smile he gave her now changed his whole face — she could see a glimpse of the man young Lady Isolde must have fallen in love with so many years ago. She found herself smiling back.

"I am much improved, thank you. Of course, my health is not quite the same as it was," Eamon said. His face darkened for a moment, but the expression passed so quickly she might almost have imagined it.

"But for the most part," he continued, "I was simply over-tired from the battle so soon after my other… illness."

"I dragged you straight out of bed into the middle of a civil war," she replied. "We were all impressed by your fortitude. But I'm glad you're feeling more like yourself at last. And how is Lady Isolde? Is she here in Denerim?"

"No. No, I left her to oversee Redcliffe. She never did like to travel."

Nessa hoped Isolde would do a better job of taking care of Redcliffe than she had done the last time she'd been left in charge.

"I don't know if you are aware," said Eamon, "that the queen is having a small dinner party for some of her more trusted associates this evening? I am on my way there now. I'm sure you would be welcome. I could speak to her about it, if you wish?"

"I couldn't think of intruding without a proper invitation," Nessa said quickly.

"You are one of the queen's closest friends. She would hardly expect you to stand on ceremony."

"Please, don't trouble yourself," Nessa said, starting to feel a bit trapped. "We've been on the road for days… we've just arrived in Denerim literally this moment." She dropped her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "To be honest what I really want is a hot bath."

Eamon chuckled. "Even the queen herself is unlikely to blame you for that. Very well — I'll extend your greetings and apologies."

"Thank you. I'll speak with her myself tomorrow if she has time." She stepped to the side, clearing way for Eamon to pass down the steps. "Please don't let us keep you; I don't want to make you late for dinner."

"Then I wish you a good evening," he said, bowing slightly and continuing down the stairs.

 

Nessa walked down the hall towards her rooms, lost in thought.

"You shake your head, my Warden."

"It's nothing," she said. She'd been thinking that if only Eamon had shared more of those charming smiles with Alistair things might have been different. Alistair had never complained… but during the blight, Eamon had made plans with Nessa as though his foster son were not even present. She'd seen how withdrawn and unhappy it made Alistair look. Maybe if he hadn't already been feeling left out and defensive…

But it wasn't something she wanted to talk about. On the other hand, she doubted Zevran would believe her 'nothing.'

"I'm glad after everything that's happened Eamon can still be glad to see me," she said instead.

"It is rather surprising."

His agreement was a little too emphatic for her taste. She frowned at him, but he kept his eyes straight ahead and his expression mild.

"I know he understood intellectually," she said. "The Chantry teaches that once a mage becomes an abomination, they are lost. But still, his only son. It must be very hard. I hope…" Her brow wrinkled in concern. "I hope he doesn't take it out on Isolde. She only did what she felt she had to. It was for the best. I don't mean hiding that Connor was a mage; that was really stupid. But what she did afterward, to — to free him from the demon."

"Mmm," agreed Zevran.

She gave him a sharp look. "You aren't listening, are you? And I thought you were tired. Why haven't you gone downstairs to your own room?"

"I thought perhaps we might have a little talk first," he said.

She bit her lip. Something was still not right. Usually Zevran was always  _on_ ; always watching, always chattering, always performing. He claimed he was only tired from the aftereffects of the poison; but without his usual energy he seemed so much sadder. She'd thought it was just a slow recovery but… maybe it was something else? He wasn't unhappy with her, was he?

She was so occupied with these thoughts that she almost walked past her own room.

"Allow me," said Zevran.

He opened the door slowly, but made no move to step inside. When she started to move, he held up a hand to stop her. After another moment's pause, he took two steps forward before pausing again. When nothing happened, he moved the rest of the way in, stepping cautiously, his head gliding back and forth like a snake's. Once he had scanned the sitting room, he moved into the bedroom, prowling around the furniture and peering into corners, his eyes darting quickly back and forth. Next, he examined the windows, running quick fingers over the latch and sill of each. Nessa watched him, brows drawn together.

Finally he returned to where she stood, and swept her a bow.

"All is safe and secure. If anyone has been here, they were very, very careful."

"You were worried about me," she said with surprise.

"You worry me constantly,  _bella_ ," he said, in a voice laden with suggestion.

She shrugged off the innuendo impatiently and slid her pack off her shoulders, dumping it in the corner. "So this what you wanted, then? To check my rooms?"

He stepped to the corridor and glanced out, then he closed the door firmly before answering.

"Mostly, yes," he said in a low voice. "But there is one thing more. You asked for my opinion some days back. I will offer it now. Anora has considerable power: the castle, a loyal guard, friends like you and me."

Nessa nodded.

"Alistair has some power from his name, and his deeds and so forth. But not nearly enough to displace Anora on his own. It is likely someone else is thinking to link his power to theirs in order to take down the queen." He spread his hands. "I do not know who it might be — whether it is someone from elsewhere who wishes to add Ferelden to their rule, or someone closer to home. In either case… you need to be very careful. You are the queen's strongest ally — it may well be you they come after first."

"Do you think that's why those men attacked us?"

"I doubt very much they knew who we were. But as for whoever sent them… it is a possibility. I do not speak so to alarm you…"

"I'm not alarmed," she cut in. "I'm angry."

"Yes. That is precisely what I worry about." His eyes crinkled at the corners. "Try to step softly, if you can. I know it is not your preferred mode of problem solving, but it is the one most likely to keep us all alive; including the queen. Now," he finished crisply, "I shall have a word in Brion's ear before I retire myself. Sleep well, my Warden."

He bowed to her, and let himself out.


	11. Chapter 11

Anxious as Nessa had been to reach the queen, now that they were here she was starting to doubt herself. The hour was early, but the queen's steward had brought a message inviting her to Anora's study in thirty minutes. She assumed she had Eamon to thank for this, though she wished she'd had a little more time to think over what she wanted to say. Maybe Fergus had been right. What if she was making a big deal over nothing?

She threw herself down on the bed and frowned at the ceiling. She didn't honestly feel like it was paranoia, not now that she knew Zevran shared her suspicions. Last night he'd seemed positively worried. In Antiva, Crows and political strife went hand-in-hand; she trusted his instincts. If he thought something was wrong, it probably  _was_  — which meant talking to Anora was the right thing to do. She just wished she knew what to say.

When she left her rooms, Zevran was slouched against the wall partway down the corridor. She scowled at him, but he gave her only a bland smile in return. He waited for her to draw even with him before pushing off the wall and falling into step beside her.

"I hear you are going to visit the queen," he said mildly. "I thought I might join you."

Of course he knew; that was typical. Though… perhaps she should have invited him. She felt a flicker of guilt. She'd assumed he wouldn't be interested. But in fairness, she wouldn't have uncovered even half of what she knew without his help. She should at least have asked.

She glanced over out of the corner of her eye. His expression was carefully neutral.

"Thanks," she said out loud. "I appreciate the company, you sneaky bastard."

The corners of his eyes crinkled, and she knew she'd said the right thing.

 

When they reached the royal apartments, they were ushered directly into the queen's study. Anora looked up from her ornately carved mahogany desk and smiled.

"I am pleased to have you back in Denerim again so soon. It's always delightful to see you both. Sit down. Glenn," she said to the guard just inside the door, "you may wait outside. The Warden and I are not to be disturbed."

The guard bowed and stepped out.

"I'm afraid pleasure is not exactly why we're here," said Nessa.

"I thought as much from your faces," said Anora.

Zevran swept the queen a low bow before seating himself in one of the chairs before her desk. "You impress me more each time we meet, Your Majesty."

Nessa checked to make sure the study door was shut before sitting down herself.

"We have heard some worrisome rumors," she began.

With Zevran's help, she outlined the events of the previous fortnight. Anora's expression did not change as they told their story; she seemed made of marble. She asked one or two clarifying questions when they were done, then leaned back in her chair, folding her hands carefully before her.

"Your story puts recent events in a different light," she said. "I don't know if you've yet heard, but Empress Celene is sending an ambassador to our court. He is due to arrive at the end of next month. He will be the first such emissary we've had from Orlais since Meghren was defeated."

Nessa and Zevran exchanged a glance.

"What is it?" Anora asked. It was a command rather than a question.

"I told you before that we went back to the camp at Ostagar," began Nessa. "It wasn't just Cailan and darkspawn that we found there. There were… letters. From the Empress."

"You know about the letters," Anora said flatly. "Does anyone else?"

"We told no one. And we destroyed them. If there is anyone else who knows, it is not through any of us. Only Zevran, Alistair and myself were there."

Anora's eyes narrowed. "So Alistair knew."

"He was with me when I found them," said Nessa carefully. "But he would never talk about it."

Anora rose and began to pace, waving a hand to indicate they could remain seated. "But you have no way to know that for sure."

"I guess not," Nessa said reluctantly.

"You understand why this is important? Half of the Banns want the ambassador thrown out on his ear the moment he arrives. The other half are cautiously welcoming, in the hopes that Orlais can help with supplies for the winter. A few of them are even talking about an alliance, possibly a marriage. None of them know that Cailan considered putting me aside for Celene." She smiled humorlessly. "Except Eamon of course — it was his idea, after all. So far he has kept that information to himself. No doubt he is waiting for the moment of maximum impact."

She stopped abruptly in front of Nessa. "I do not wish an Orlesian marriage," she said in a low, urgent voice. "Or any alliance which relies on them too heavily. My father became paranoid beyond reason, but he was not wrong in his caution at the start. Too much has happened; we know they can't be trusted. So if concerns about my ability to conceive turn out to be true — if were I marry an Orlesian and then die without an heir — it would be tantamount to handing Ferelden directly over to Orlais. No matter what the Landsmeet decided, if we give them too strong a foothold here it could end in another war."

Nessa rose and took Anora's cold hands in her own. "Anora, it's not too late for children. Don't you  _even_  think that was your fault. Everyone knew Cailan couldn't keep it in his pants— "

Anora's lips tightened, and she started to draw her hands away.

"I'm sorry," Nessa said quickly, tightening her grip. "But you know what I mean, and we all knew it was true. My point is — he had plenty of opportunity, but there was never a single child.  _You_  were not the problem."

"Nevertheless, it's not a risk I'm willing to take." Anora slid her hands free and returned to sit at her desk.

"I need some time to think," she said. "I appreciate you bringing this news to me; please convey my thanks to your brother as well. In the meantime if the both of you would stay for a time, I would greatly appreciate it. You might speak to members of the Landsmeet and sound them out… any information you can gather may be useful."

"Of course we'll help," said Nessa.

"We will indeed," said Zevran.

"I'll speak to Cauthrien on your behalf, Zevran. Though if you could try not to irritate her more than you absolutely have to, it would be appreciated."

"Of course, Your Majesty."

"Good. I am glad to have the both of you here. Keep me informed of anything you find."

* * *

 

Nessa walked briskly down the castle corridor, her skirt swishing around her ankles. She was almost getting used to the sensation again by now; a week spent delving into the palace social scene had involved a lot of formal dresses. At the moment, however, she was skipping the afternoon concert at Bann Sighard's estate to hunt for Zevran, and she was beginning to be irritated. He hadn't been upstairs, or in his rooms, or down in the barracks, or out in the courtyard. In that last location, she had encountered Brion, who was spending the afternoon drilling with the guard at the archery targets. He hadn't been able to help, however; none of the archers had seen Zevran all day.

Nessa sighed. She should be glad Zevran was feeling more like his elusive and irritating self after a few days' rest, but she was running out of places to search — and she really didn't want to start randomly opening doors.

She was reluctantly making her way toward the servant's hall when she finally heard the sound she was looking for spilling out of the kitchen. Ducking inside, she found Zevran attempting to coax a sliver of tart from the plump mouse-haired cook.

"There you are!" Nessa said. "I was starting to worry I'd need to roust you out of a bed somewhere."

Zevran gave her a look of innocent incredulity.

"Come see…" she caught herself and edited rapidly. "I need to speak to you about something. Something important."

The pair of them had spent the past week gathering information. Nessa got hers from gossip and observation, while Zevran's methods were rather less straightforward. He had turned up several interesting tidbits, which made Nessa was all the more pleased that she'd finally made a significant discovery of her own.

But Zevran was in no hurry. "More important than Martha's quince tart?" he asked. "I find that very hard to believe. The woman you see before you is a pastry goddess."

Nessa's brow wrinkled. Martha was… smiling. She was fairly certain she'd never seen Martha smile before.

But still, she was in a hurry. "Zevran…"

"I am coming, Warden. Martha, my beauty, it breaks my heart to leave you. But I shall be back about that tart."

Martha swatted at him with the wooden spoon in her hand. He sidestepped it neatly and threw her a grin and a wink before following Nessa out the door.

"I found —" Nessa began.

Zevran shook his head and she pressed her lips together. He led the way down the passage to the Great Hall servants' entrance, looked to make sure the hall was empty, and ushered her through. He walked casually past the dais and down the center of the room before turning to smile at her.

"Now,  _bella_. What is it you are oh-so-anxious to tell me?"

"Here?" she asked.

"The very best place for a secret is out in the open," he said. "The servant's hall, the secret niche, under the branches of the sheltering tree… all these give too many hiding places for eager ears. Here in the Hall, we have ample warning if anyone comes. If you speak quickly, we shall finish before it appears we do anything other than take a short cut."

Nessa let out an irritated huff of breath. "Fine. I've found a secret passage. Now do I have your attention?"

His eyebrows rose. "Entirely," he said.

"If I'm not mistaken, it runs directly under those windows," she said. She was careful not to point; instead she looked significantly up towards the top of the room where the afternoon light streamed through. "There's a map in the gallery upstairs… I'll show you, if you don't mind being torn away from your dessert that long."

"Somehow, I shall manage," he said. "Show me."

* * *

 

Nessa led Zevran to the second floor gallery. She glanced around casually when they entered, but finding the room empty, she darted ahead.

"It's past the fireplace," she said, leading him towards the huge marble monstrosity that was the focal point of the room. It ran from floor to ceiling, the carved side pieces jutting out at least three feet from the wall. They were covered with carved scenes of hunting mabari hounds, highlighted in places with gold leaf.

"Hideous old thing, isn't it?" she said over her shoulder.

"It certainly draws the attention," Zevran replied, eyeing it carefully as though the flames inside might lunge out to swallow them up.

"Maybe it's supposed to," said Nessa. Just beyond the fireplace, tucked back behind the white stone carvings, a dingy and ancient looking map of Ferelden hung on the wall. Nessa stopped in front of it. "I don't think anyone ever really looks at this."

The map was a good three feet square, and hung unusually low on the wall. It was mounted inside a dark wood frame. The canvas was in poor repair; it was marred with several scratches and the ink had faded in places. Altogether, it was an odd thing to have hanging in such a formal room.

"If you run your fingers over the frame, like this…" Nessa slid her hand along the outer edge between the map and the fireplace, "there's a catch."

She had to stroke the area a couple of times before she hit the right pressure in just the right place. The map suddenly lurched backward a few inches, while the frame stayed with the rest of the wall. Zevran crowded up behind her, unable to keep his fingers off the mechanism.

"This is beautiful work," he breathed. "Dwarven, I would guess. It must have cost a small fortune to have built and installed."

"If you push again, the map comes back forward," she explained. "Do you think Anora knows about it?"

Zevran was stroking the surface of the canvas. He slid his fingers gently around the edge of the panel and gave it a push. The canvas slid neatly and almost soundlessly to the left, disappearing into a slot inside the wall.

"Who can say without asking her? But perhaps some further investigation might prove fruitful. Allow me."

He slipped past her and stepped up through the frame, into the hole behind the wall.

"Ahh, yes. This is very nice indeed," his voice floated out. "Though it's just as well I've no fear of spiders."

Nessa impatiently gathered up her skirts with both hands and stepped through the hole after Zevran. She very nearly banged the back of her head on the top of the frame — the floor of the passage was higher than that of the gallery. Zevran was several paces down a dusty narrow passageway, peering through a peephole into the Hall below.

"Perhaps the Hall is not so perfect a place for secrets after all," he said, half to himself. Then he turned to Nessa and shook his head.

"You are beautiful and brave, my Hero," he said in a low voice, "but you have terrible spy instincts. Whatever made you decide to go exploring in a dress? And a red one at that. Not that you don't look radiant — the color is lovely on you — but you're about to be covered in dust and cobwebs, and I fear even I cannot save you if you trip over your skirt and break your neck."

"I met with the queen this morning," she said defensively.

"And you could not have done so in brown? Ah well, I have noticed the library is infrequently used. Perhaps you could convince people you got dusty hunting for a good book."

"I was on my way to the library, actually," she said. "But there was this servant hanging around the gallery, and he looked… I don't know. Uneasy. And I didn't recognize him. So I pretended to look at the pictures to see what he would do. Then I… got kind of interested in the map, and opened it by accident. Fortunately, he'd gone by then."

She waited for Zevran to laugh at her, but he only shook his head and smiled before turning back to exploring the corridor. The passage was dimly lit by the daylight filtering through periodic spy holes which revealed the great hall.

The passage ran the length of the gallery, and then made a sharp narrow turn. They must be behind the library now, she thought. There were no holes in this wall; once they rounded the corner the passage was very dark. Nessa bumped up against Zevran.

"Take my hand," he said quietly. "My night vision is better."

She cautiously felt her way down from his shoulder to his hand. She waited for an inappropriate remark, but he simply gave her fingers a light squeeze and resumed moving forward, his other hand feeling lightly along the wall ahead of him. Eventually the corridor seemed to come to a dead end.

"Hmmm," Zevran muttered. "I wonder..." He released her fingers and gently ran both hands along the wall. "Somewhere there should be... ah! There it is." He pulled at something in the dark, and a sliver of light appeared. He gently pushed open the narrow door and past a tattered wall hanging. Nessa cautiously followed him. Once she eased past the fabric, she saw they stood on the landing of a dim stairwell.

"The servants' staircase," Zevran explained. "So this passage is an escape route, as well as for spying on the Hall. Interesting."

"Do we go out this way, or back the way we came?" Nessa asked.

"Back as we came, I think. We left the map door open, you may recall. Besides, no one would think anything of another elf in the servant's halls, but there is no reason for you to be there."

He led the way back into the hidden passage, and showed her how to work the lever which opened and closed the stairway door. Once again holding his hand, she followed him down the long dark walkway and around the corner back to the gallery.

They were almost to the open map door when she found herself suddenly pressed to the wall, one of Zevran's hands firmly over her mouth, the other tightly gripping her forearm.

"Not a sound," he breathed. She gave a tiny nod, and he slowly released her mouth. His hand wound round her neck to gently pull her head forward until her ear almost touched his lips. "I wish you'd stayed put,  _cara_ ," he barely whispered in her ear. "You're hardly dressed to hide in the shadows."

He had a point, but there wasn't much she could do about it now. For the next few moments, she heard nothing other than the sound of his breath. Then she caught the faintest echo of footsteps. Someone was walking along the gallery. The steps became louder; they were moving closer. She drew a worried breath. Would the walker notice the open painting door? She tensed to step back, farther into the shadows.

"Be still," Zevran breathed, his words little more than a puff of air. They tickled her ear.

Suddenly, she was acutely aware of how close he was. He'd pushed her back out of the light from the open doorway and was hiding as much of her red dress as he could with his more sensibly clothed body, which meant he was draped over her torso like a cloak. A warmth seemed to spread from her ear where his lips had been, down her neck, sinking into her stomach. She felt warm everywhere he touched her: her arm, her chest, the back of her neck where his hand still rested.

The footsteps paused, turned, and headed back the way they had come.

His grip on her arm eased, and Nessa stopped holding her breath. Her abrupt inhale pushed her chest into even closer contact with Zevran. She could feel the heat of him through her bodice. The warmth and the slight friction made her suddenly acutely aware that her breasts were separated from his heated skin by only a few light layers of fabric. Her nipples pebbled and her heart sped up.

There was an amused puff of breath in her ear. Of course — Zevran was too close and far too experienced not to have noticed her sudden flush. And he was far too  _Zevran_  to hide the fact that his body was responding as well. His hips shifted slightly, holding her more firmly against the wall, and his long fingers traced the muscles of her neck with exquisite slowness.

She was going to die of embarrassment. She wiggled.

"Shhhh," he whispered, and ran his thumb lightly along her jaw. Her skin tingled where he had touched it.

She was so distracted by Zevran's nearness and the gentle stroke of his fingers that she entirely missed the arrival of a second set of footsteps. She was only jerked back to her surroundings at the sound of a voice.

"You're late," someone said, with a hint of an Orlesian accent. "I was beginning to grow concerned." In truth, he sounded angry.

"I'm sorry Ser," said a second, milder voice. The second man definitely sounded Ferelden. "There was someone here — idle servants attract notice. I had to move." There was a rustle of paper. "There have been some last minute developments. These tidings are not quite up to date." More sounds of paper unfolding, and a brief pause.

"You've managed to secure him now, I hope?" said the Orlesian.

"We have, Ser."

"Good. And what did he say? Has he agreed?"

"It is... difficult to tell. He was not yet fully coherent when I left."

The Orlesian made a disgusted noise. "Drink, I suppose? Weak. Not so different from his brother; I suppose we shouldn't be surprised. Well. You can tell our friend that things are going well on this end, but a few more weeks of preparation would be welcome. He can take the time he needs; keep me apprised of his progress." There was another crinkle of paper, and steps drew near to the fireplace. "You may go; it will be best if you were underway as soon as possible."

"Yes, Ser." One pair of footsteps went, walking quickly. Another moment and a last crinkle of paper, and then the second set followed more slowly.

Nessa's head was spinning. She pushed at Zevran's chest. It had to be Alistair — who else could it be? And he was… but that wasn't the point. The point was that Anora had to know. Now. She pulled away from Zevran.

"Not yet," he cautioned in a half whisper, but he took a step back to allow her some space. "They may yet return, and we must not be seen. Be still another moment."

Nessa closed her eyes, leaned her head back against the wall, and counted the seconds inside her head. One-one-thousand. Two-one-thousand. Three-one-thousand. When two minutes had passed and no further sound of footsteps echoed through the chamber beyond, Zevran moved quietly to the doorway and scanned the room.

"All clear," he said softly, then gave her a wicked grin. "If I had known this sort of situation excited you so... I should have brought you scouting with me a long time ago."

Nessa elected to ignore this. "I think you should go out through the back stairs, just in case. I'll go this way — it's faster. I have to tell Anora."

"Very well, I shall find you later this evening." He slid past her and headed down the dark corridor.

"Zev!" she hissed after him a few seconds later.

"Hmmm?" His voice was deceptively calm compared to the swiftness of his return.

"The letter. It's still in the fireplace. We need proof… will you see if you can salvage any of it?"

She left him fishing around in the coals and went to see the queen.


	12. Chapter 12

It was late in the evening when Zevran let himself into Nessa's rooms. From the lift of her chin she'd heard him enter, but she didn't look up from where she sat in her favorite chair, wrapped around a nearly empty glass. Her dress was still smudged with dust and cobwebs; her knees were tucked up and her feet were bare.

"So," he said, deciding not to comment on the unlocked door. "What happened?"

She smiled but her eyes didn't quite make it to his face.

"Decided to see if you were right about the palace cellars. You were, too. 'S a proper maze down there – nearly got lost two times on my way out. But," she waved a hand over towards a dusty green bottle on the sideboard, "I'm pretty sure no one's laid eyes on that in fifty years. Help yourself — it's Antivan. And  _amazing_. Top me up, while you're at it." She stretched her arm out to put her glass as close to that side of the room as she could without getting up.

Zevran didn't waste time explaining that he hadn't been asking about the brandy. He crossed to the cupboard — careful to step around her discarded shoes, which lay in the middle of the floor — and pulled out a glass for himself. He lifted the bottle, raised an eyebrow slightly at the level of liquid inside, and poured out a generous measure. He carried the bottle over to Nessa and poured a somewhat smaller amount into her glass.

After a moment's hesitation, he carried the bottle back to the sideboard and re-corked it. He scooped up Nessa's shoes and tucked them under her chair before settling into the cushioned seat opposite. He took a small sip of the brandy and let out an appreciative moan.

"Told you," she said.

"So you did," he agreed. "Now, tell me what happened."

Nessa's smile faded. "The queen… was about as happy as I figured. Meaning she's livid. If she'd been anyone else, she'd have thrown something, or… I dunno." She took a sip of her drink. "Her control is scary."

"And?" Zevran prompted.

"And as much as she'd like to wring someone's neck with her bare hands, she said an Orlesian accent and a palace-servant-who-wasn't with brown hair is not enough to go on. Sent me to the servants' hall to ask questions, but I couldn't find the guy. So pro'bly she's right. You got the letter?"

"I got the letter, yes."

"Knew you would," she said, raising her glass to him. The brandy sloshed, dangerously close to spilling over the rim of the glass, but she didn't seem to notice. "Anora will knight you or something."

"An elf? Think of the scandal!" He laughed to hide the uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach.

Taking a sip of brandy, he rolled the liquid slowly across his tongue before swallowing. He might be concerned, but that was no reason not to enjoy his drink. On the other hand, he knew he was only postponing the inevitable.

"In truth," he confessed reluctantly, "there was not much left of the letter — but likely it is enough to corroborate our story. What else did the queen say?"

"Flames," Nessa said, looking distressed. "We need a  _place_."

"What else did she say?" Zevran asked again.

Nessa looked away, toying with her glass, and did not answer.

"If it helps,  _cara_ , I'm trying to get to the part that made you upset enough to storm down into the palace cellars, steal a nearly priceless bottle of alcohol, and then drink nearly half of it by yourself. Theft is usually more my line than yours, no?"

"Did not drink half the bottle." But her protest was half-hearted.

"You made a significant dent. Don't make me beg,  _preciosa_ ; tell me the rest."

She looked up at Zevran with an odd smile on her lips. "Would you? Beg? I might like to see that."

"Later, I will do anything you like," he promised. "Tell me."

Nessa held up her glass, looking thoughtfully at the carmel-colored contents. Then she tipped it back and finished them in a gulp. Zevran winced. It was  _really_  good brandy.

Nessa rested the empty glass on her knee and closed her eyes.

The silence stretched so long he thought she might have forgotten the question.

Finally, she spoke. "We're to go after him. You and me."

"Go after…?" he prompted.

She opened her eyes. The bleak expression in them squeezed at his heart. "Alistair. She wants us to bring him back."

"Ahh," he said.

"Said if we didn't do it, she'd send someone else. Hire Crows maybe. To find and kill him. If we don't go, he dies."

* * *

Nessa waited for Zevran to say something, but he seemed lost in thought. Bugger that, she decided. She'd already done plenty of thinking.

She untangled her legs and pushed up to her feet. Losing orientation with the ground for a moment, she grabbed at the chair arm to steady herself. Once up and down were in their proper places again and her feet were where they should be, she walked carefully over to the sideboard and reached for the bottle. A warm hand closed around her arm, and she looked up, startled. How had Zevran… hadn't he been across the room just a few seconds ago?

" _Bella_ ," he said, with one of those irritating bland smiles that hid whatever he was really thinking, "you will have an unpleasant morning if you drink much more of that. And we will have work to do, no?"

She looked at the long brown fingers wrapped around her wrist. She followed the line of his hand, up muscled forearm, past the pushed-up fabric of his sleeve and across to where the collar of his shirt fell open to reveal golden skin, a swirl of dark ink, the hollow of his throat. She didn't seem to be able to move.

"Besides," he added in a low voice, "are you really so sure it is brandy you are thirsty for?"

She dragged her eyes up to his face. His smile was softer, warmer. His eyes sparkled with promise.

She blinked. He wasn't really… no. This was just part of their usual thing. It was her turn; she'd brush him off with a smile, then he'd make a joke and let go of her arm, and things would all stay perfectly normal.

Normal… normal was kind of  _balls_  today.

She took a breath, but bit her lip instead of speaking. She felt unsettled and unsteady, and she was starting to think it wasn't just the alcohol. She wavered slightly, and her hip bumped up against the cabinet. Her right hand was still a prisoner; she brought her left up to his chest to steady herself. His skin was warm through his shirt; she could feel the beat of his heart, quick and strong.

Zevran moistened his lips with his tongue, then took a step towards her. She swallowed, hard. Her fingers tightened on his shirt, gathering the fabric into her fist.

He took another step. Now her hand was pinned between them. Memories flooded back of the afternoon; the way he'd pushed her to the wall, his chest hard against hers holding her still, his hip and something else, something hot and firm, against her thigh. Her breath stuttered, and her heart began to race.

Zevran reached around her with his free hand, sliding the brandy bottle to the side and out of reach. The movement brought him closer still. Almost... When he let go of the bottle, he rested his hand against the cabinet top, just brushing against her hip.

She was effectively trapped, even without his weight against her; the cabinet at her back, her wrist still firmly in his grasp. Nessa wanted it; she wanted him to push into her, to complete the contact. Her lips parted slightly, for the kiss she was sure was coming.

It didn't.

He did lean in, but only to brush his cheek against the curve of her neck, his breath warm against her ear. It tingled, down her back and then everywhere. She whimpered, a small needy sound. It was embarrassing, and she blushed, letting go of his shirt and half pulling away.

He chuckled and then... he slid slowly down her body, flowing effortlessly to his knees.

"Wha-" her voice came out in a croak. She tried again. "What are you doing?"

"I thought you wanted to see me on my knees. Did you not say you wished me to beg?"

His smile was – Maker, he could probably be arrested for smiling like that.

His hand trailed slowly from her arm, down the side of her breast, across her belly, and down, leaving heat in its wake. She shuddered in anticipation as he almost touched her  _there_ , before shifting to run his fingers down her thigh instead. His other hand trailed down across her hip, then around and all the way down to her ankle. Goosebumps followed in the wake of his hands, spread over her whole body, and she trembled.

Both his hands slipped lightly under her skirt, the tips of his fingers warm against her skin. Up, up, up they went, all the way to tease at the edge of her smalls. One hand slid eased back over the curves of her behind. The other slid slowly down, straight across… Her knees suddenly threatened to give out on her, and she grabbed at the edge of the cabinet for support.

"I… Zev," she gasped.

He raised his eyebrows at her, though his grin never faltered and his hands… how could she possibly talk when his hands were doing  _that_?

"I guess I... aah... thought there would be more talking involved? In begging, that is."

He slipped two fingers under the edge of her smalls, dragging the fabric down her legs.

"On occasion, I prefer to let my hands do the talking," he said, lifting each of her feet gently to coax her smalls entirely off. He held them up triumphantly when he was done, twirling them around one finger before bringing the fabric up to his face. His eyes fell shut as he breathed her in.

If she had been blushing before, her cheeks were on fire now. Why would he… like it was some kind of perfume? She was mortified and excited and confused, and if he didn't put his hands back on her she thought she might die.

"Zevran?"

"Patience,  _bella_." He slid the fabric into his pocket. "You need to relax, hmm?"

Reaching up to her waist, he lifted her slightly and set her back so she was sitting on the edge of the cupboard. Only the tips of her toes rested on the floor. Then he returned his attention to her skirt, dragging it slowly up, over and past her knee, and setting his lips to the sensitive skin there. He kissed his way languidly up her thigh, sliding the fabric before him as he went.

She made some kind of noise. Between the brandy and the wicked grin, the wet slide of his lips and the throbbing feeling like she was going to burst out of her skin… that was likely as close to coherence as she could get, just now.

"Mmm?" he asked, pulling back slightly to look into her eyes.

Her fingers tightened on the edge of the countertop. When she said nothing else, he returned to brushing his lips along her inner thigh.

"Hands are all very well, but it sounds to me," he said between kisses, "as though you would like me to use my tongue."

Meeting her eyes, he brushed one thumb across the front of her sex. Her hips gave an involuntary twitch.

"Ungh," she said.

"Exactly so."

He lowered his head, brushing his tongue against her. His nose brushed against the bundle of nerves underneath, and she shuddered, grabbing for his shoulder to keep from falling, then twining one hand into the back of his hair. He ran one hand along the inside of her thigh, easing it back, and licked at her again.

She'd had this done to her before, of course, but never quite like this. Zevran's movements were so sure; he teased at her, building her up and making her throb and shake, then easing back so she could catch her breath. And he made these little noises, oh Maker - like he couldn't get enough of her. She tightened her fingers in his hair.

The throbbing built into an ache, and she twitched her hips impatiently, wanting more. He smiled against her skin before gently sliding two fingers inside her. She was sopping wet; another time she might have been embarrassed but now she just shifted, pushing against him. Her head fell back against the wall as he worked tongue and fingers in concert, lick and push, lick and push, giving her just slightly less pressure than she wanted. She whimpered, and wrapped a leg around him in an attempt to bring him closer.

The noises she made sounded desperate but she didn't care, not so long as he kept going. Her whole awareness shrank down to that one spot, to the throb and flash and more, please-oh-please more. She was keening continuously now, straining her hips to meet each swipe, each thrust. He curved his fingers up, just so, and at the same time pressed down with his tongue – she was caught between, pulling and pushing and... everything went white as the wave crashed over her.

When it passed, she felt limp and exhausted. She let go of his hair, and ran a shaking hand over her eyes.

Once she was stable again, he slid back, licking his fingers clean before rising to his feet.

"And now, my Warden, we must get you to bed, yes?" he said, sliding an arm around her waist and pulling her off the cabinet. Still dazed, she allowed him to lead her into the bedroom, where he indicated that she should hold on to the foot of the bed for support.

With neat, economical movements, he unlaced the sides of her gown and unbuttoned the clasp at the back of her neck.

Of course, he'd be familiar with the workings of women's clothing, she thought muzzily. He'd had enough practice.

He slid the fabric down over her shoulders and off to the floor, stepping back to admire his handiwork. Humming approvingly, he brushed long fingers lightly down her spine and around the curve of her behind. Then he turned back the bedcovers and guided her in. It wasn't until he'd covered her over and lifted her dress off the floor, folding it and setting it carefully on top of her clothes chest that she realized... this wasn't how she'd expected things to go.

She struggled to lift herself up on an elbow. "But Zev..." She pushed at the blankets and finally wrenched her arm free.

"What about...?" She made a sloppy gesture towards the general region of his pants.

"My turn will come, never doubt it," he said with a smile. "But on another occasion, when you are not upset or so very intoxicated, I think. For now you should rest, my Warden."

He tugged the blankets back over her shoulders, and she gave up, slumping back down into her pillow.

"Nice to me," she mumbled.

"Yes, indeed I am," he replied. "Now sleep."

* * *

Zevran stopped to finish the last of his brandy before leaving the empty glass on the sideboard and letting himself out of Nessa's rooms. He locked the door behind him and made his way down the stairs, mentally cursing Anora and Alistair both. It had been months since he'd last found Nessa staring into space with that lost look on her face. Hadn't she done enough? She'd finished her Warden's work with little enough help from anyone - they owed her their lives, both of them. All of them. All of Ferelden, certainly, and perhaps all of Thedas too. Could they not let her have a little peace?

At least he'd been able to help her relax, he told himself as he unlocked the door to his room. To forget for a little while. It was the best he could do.

After his usual checks — nothing had been tampered with and all was set exactly as he had left it — he undressed. He folded his shirt neatly, put it away, and slid out of his pants. He bent to retrieve them, then slid three fingers into a pocket and pulled out Nessa's smalls. His cock twitched.

He knew the warmth they held by now was likely from his own body; they had been in his pocket for some time. But still... he slid the fabric against himself, still partly hard from the pleasure of sending her off. He closed his eyes.

It has been some little while since he had indulged in the act of love. Not that he did not enjoy a pretty face or a handsome figure – he most assuredly did. And he flirted just as ruthlessly as he ever had. It was just that of late he found that when the hunt was over and the object of his attentions was ready for the plundering... he lost interest.

Surely this unusual abstinence was the reason that a warm bit of fabric had such an effect on him.

He wrapped it more securely around himself, easing his hand up and down his growing length. And why should he not enjoy the sensation? Take pleasure in the moment?

He settled on the bed, working his hand just so, trailing his other fingers down over his balls, cupping them with gentle pressure. He enjoyed the visible contrast of the soft white fabric against the dark pink-gold of his skin as he worked himself to full hardness. Then he thought about the woman he had just left, the taste of her, the jerking of her hips against his fingers and tongue. The flush of pink on her cheeks and chest as she became aroused, her look of shock when he'd first slid his fingers into her smalls, replacing the sadness in her eyes with lust. The sound of her low voice in a helpless whimper of pleasure as she said his name.

He came in shuddering silence.


	13. Chapter 13

Motes of dust danced in the sun slanting through the narrow window above the old wooden desk in the corner of the Harbormaster's office. Nessa shifted on her rickety stool and turned a page, starting again from the top. This was the third — no, fourth — log book she'd been through since arriving at the harbormaster's office early this morning. She rubbed circles into her temple with her fingertips and frowned. Squinting at endless lines of cramped text was doing nothing good for her headache.

Alistair had vanished after the Landsmeet. He had to have left Ferelden; he wouldn't have stayed to watch what they would do without him, nor could she believe he would have kept out of the fight had he been here. Assuming he'd left, he would almost certainly have traveled by ship. It was unlikely in the extreme that he could have survived the trek across the entire length of the country and over the mountains to Orlais on his own; escaping south into the wilds would be almost as long a journey. A ship was the only thing that made sense.

Since this theory was the only one she had to work with, she'd taken the official letter of inquiry the queen had given her and gone down to the docks as soon as she awoke. She waved it under the noses of various clerks until they gave her access to the shipping records and passenger manifests for the time just before the attack on Denerim. It was lucky that the Harbormaster had been meticulous even in times of crisis; the records had still been kept during the blight. Of course, that also meant that there was seemingly no end of log books to be shuffled through. She had been carefully sifting through the stack for over an hour now — it had taken her a while to figure out how to cross-reference the passenger manifests — and she still wasn't exactly sure what she was looking for. Her fingertips were smudged from trailing down column after column of inky names.

There was the risk that if Alistair had smuggled himself on board somehow, he wouldn't be in the logs. But she tried to dismiss that possibility. For one thing, it really wasn't Alistair's style to cheat someone out of the cost of his passage. For another, he was awfully big to hide himself in a contained space like a ship. All in all, she supposed she ought to be thankful it was Alistair she had to find rather than Zevran.

Zevran. That was the other thing she was trying not to think about. What in the Fade had happened last night? He'd worked her into a shivering mindless wreck — which certainly had been an effective distraction — and then when she was completely helpless in his hands… he'd tucked her into bed and waltzed away, as though that had been his intention all along. Maybe it even had been. In that case, who was this elf and what had he done with Zevran, the merciless Antivan Lothario? It didn't make any sense.

She shook her head and tried to focus her eyes back on the list of names. One impossible problem at a time. Zevran could wait. She turned another page and sighed. This was probably a waste of time. Alistair could have found some fisherman to run him south to Gwaren and from there he could have gotten a proper ship to any number of… wait.

Her finger trailed to a stop.  _Grey, Duncan_.

"Oh Alistair," she said with a sigh. "It's like you wanted to be found."

 

 

A more in-depth look at the log book revealed that "Duncan Grey" had taken passage on the Sea Witch just two days after the Landsmeet. A chat with the Harbormaster revealed that the Sea Witch was in port right at this very moment. He even sent one of his clerks with her to point out the ship in question, and to identify which of the cluster of men on the pier was Captain Kedridge. Nessa made a mental note to praise the whole of his office to the queen.

The captain of the Sea Witch was a short, middle aged man just starting to go soft around the middle. He huffed impatiently into his reddish beard when Nessa tried to question him.

"I'm a busy man, girly. No time for nonsense. Go pester someone else."

She practically had to rap him over the nose with her letter of inquiry to get him to look at it. Once he'd decided it was genuine, however, he became all patronizing smiles and oily helpfulness. Of course he'd sailed from Denerim at the date marked on the registry; that was why those logs were kept. His cargo had been refugees, mostly; once people realized Denerim was in immediate danger from the darkspawn he'd made several trips to shuttle those with sufficient coin to various nearby places. Mostly that had been to the Free Marches, as that took the least amount of time. He couldn't possibly remember any of the individuals who had been on his boat on those trips. Now, with all due respect to the queen, he had cargo to load and get to Kirkwall and the tide wouldn't wait.  _Yes_ , Kirkwall in the Free Marches. Yes, he had taken refugees to Kirkwall. No, he didn't remember offhand if that had been his first port of call on the particular date she was asking about — did she really think he remembered every detail of every trip?

"Of course not," Nessa said, exercising every ounce of patience she possessed, "Not off the top of your head. I think, though, that I'd like to go with you to Kirkwall. How many passengers could you fit on this trip?"

"Oh no no no, my girl, it doesn't work like that. I've got a full load of cargo; passengers take up too much room and spend too much time dithering when it's time to set sail. I'll be back in a few weeks, if you really insist on continuing this conversation — but I assure you it's a waste of everyone's time."

"I've direct orders from the queen to look into this matter. You'll cooperate, or she'll hear about why."

"And when I have a direct order from the queen to take on last minute passengers who ask impertinent questions, you can be sure it will be my pleasure to do so. Now if you'll excuse me."

He gave her a polite smile that didn't meet his eyes, and turned his back on her.

Nessa clenched her fists, trying valiantly to resist the temptation to beat some compliance into him. Instead, she spun on her heel and headed back to the palace. Anora wanted this thing done; if it couldn't happen without her direct intervention, so be it.


	14. Chapter 14

Nessa strode past the palace gate, the heels of her boots striking sharply against the cobblestones. Zevran was near the front steps, playing some sort of knife tossing game with Brion and one of the off duty guards.

His head snapped toward her almost the moment she came into view. She wondered how he always seemed to know she was coming. Could he really recognize the rhythm of her footsteps? Stupid assassin skills; they were bloody irritating.

Zevran turned back to his companions and said something, and they both laughed. He collected his knives from the target while the guard dug around in his pocket for a coin. He flipped it into the air towards Zevran, who caught it neatly before stepping forward to meet Nessa.

"You are bristling with purpose, my Warden."

She did not slow down or change her stride.

"I'm off to brief the queen," she said briskly. "If you come along, it would save us some time."

"And time is of the essence, I see," he said, leaping easily up the steps to join her. "Very well, I shall do so."

He said nothing further until they'd reached the second floor, but she could feel him watching her. She ignored it as best she could.

"It seems you had an early start this morning?" he ventured.

"I don't generally sleep well after drinking," she answered shortly.

"Ahh," he said.

She could hear the smile in his voice, but refused to look.

"And how is your head?" he continued.

Sore, muddled, and confused — no thanks to you, she thought.

"Fine," she said aloud.

"Indeed?" he asked with friendly disbelief. "I am surprised."

Nessa rolled her eyes. They weren't talking about this now, were they? Right here in the hallway? No they weren't — not if she could help it. She increased her pace.

Zevran seemed to get the message, because he said nothing further. He simply stretched his legs to match her speed.

"I need to speak with the queen," she said to the guard at the door to the royal apartments, as soon as they were close enough to do so without shouting. "It's urgent. She'll know what it's about."

He slipped inside, and a moment later held the door open for them.

Anora sat behind her desk; her steward stood beside her, hands clasped behind his back and an attentive expression on his face. She waved them forward. "I'm glad to hear you've been busy, Warden. You may speak freely in front of Meirion."

"It is his help we may need," Nessa said, explaining her conversation with the captain. "For all this fellow says he's loyal to the crown, getting passage on this ship isn't going to be easy or cheap."

"And you think it's important?" asked the queen.

"I do. I think there's a good chance he may remember more about Alistair, and we'll have lots of time on board to encourage him to do so. Besides, based on the manifest, we know that Alistair must have gone to the Free Marches – Kirkwall is a good place to start. If we can get there on the same ship, with the same captain, maybe it will help us find more clues when we arrive."

"That does sound like a good start. Meirion, see to it that Nessa and her men get berth on the Sea Witch. Best to make it passage for six; I will send some of my guard."

"Immediately, Your Majesty," the steward said with a bow. He slipped out the door, closing it behind him.

"Is that necessary?" asked Nessa.

"I should send an official delegation in the form of my personal guard. This situation is political as much as it is a Grey Warden issue; if both sides are present, we will have more options for presenting things in an expedient light."

Nessa blinked. This was the first time she'd heard this situation called a Grey Warden issue. Not that Anora was wrong… but Nessa knew she didn't care in the slightest about Alistair's broken vows. It was a warning of sorts; this was to be the queen's cover if word got out. No one would fault her for supporting the Grey Wardens, not so soon after a blight. Nessa shifted restlessly. She understood it; she didn't have to like it.

"In addition, we must not forget that Alistair is a formidable warrior," Anora continued. "Should he prove unwilling to return, you may need more manpower."

Nessa felt a chill climb up her spine. All morning she'd been doing her best to think about  _how_  to find him. She hadn't even started to consider what she would do once they had.

"Yes, Your Majesty," she said stiffly.

Anora gave her a look of sympathy. "I'm sorry that I have to ask this of you. I truly am, Nessa. But there is no one else I can trust who would have any chance of success."

Nessa nodded, dropped a curtesy, and left the room. Zevran followed behind her.

 

Once they were back in the hall, Nessa ran a hand across her eyes. She was exhausted, worried, her head hurt worse than ever — and it was not yet midday.

"How much packing do you have to do?" she asked.

"Almost none at all," Zevran replied easily.

"Then can I ask you to catch Brion up? We should be ready to leave as soon as Meirion returns… and I have to write to Fergus."

* * *

Fergus,

We've been in Denerim for just over a week now. I took Brion to Kegan and everything's set up - documents signed, oaths sworn, Is dotted and Ts crossed. You won't be disappointed, I think - he's solid. A bit quiet, but a decent traveling companion and not bad in a fight.

Yes, we had a skirmish; no, it's nothing to worry about. Anyway, we're all fine - Zevran was showing off and got a bit cut up, but he's healed now and having a great time showing off his new scar. It's hard enough to get him to keep his shirt on during normal circumstances; I think most if the castle has seen him half naked by now — including  _all_  of the kitchen staff. He plays on their sympathies to get extra dessert — it's quite shameless. You know how good Martha's pastries are, so I suppose you won't blame him.

But none of that is the real point of this letter. We delivered our message and the queen is sending us on a bit of a mission. Since I'm trusting this letter to Kegan, it is safe enough to tell you that for the moment our destination is Kirkwall and the objective is that Warden we talked about before I left — but please keep that to yourself for now. We're explaining the trip as "Warden duties" which is true enough, I suppose.

Things are very on edge here. You may have been notified already that Empress Celene is sending an official ambassador to Denerim. It's caused quite a stir — Anora is doing her best to keep everyone calm, but it's hard work. No one likes her proposals — but naturally, no one has anything better to offer, either. Our friends from the Bannorn seem more likely to come to blows with each day that passes. Eamon could help calm the situation if he would, but so far he is refusing to do so, in the politest way possible. He has reasons for his grudge against the queen, I know, but his lack of support is throwing everything off balance.

I wish I didn't have to go.

I hope the repairs are going well.

Nessa

P. S.

I know you'll think it's not proper to say that I think the queen is lonely. But half the time I still see her as the girl who hid me in her closet after the mill pond incident. (Yes, Anora DID hide me — it was very hard not to laugh when she sent you and your friends away with a flea in your ear.) If you can manage to get away for a bit, I wish you'd come to Denerim and try to help. The Couslands have always been among the throne's strongest allies, and your support would be helpful - both politically and personally, I think.

P.P.S

I know we don't say it much but I love you. Be careful.


	15. Chapter 15

The Captain greeted Nessa and her companions with a bow. He was all smiles now; she wondered how much the steward had paid him.

"I'm very sorry about this morning," he said, managing to sound both anxious and oily at the same time. "I was preoccupied with the loading, and it's difficult to tell who to trust in this day and age. I could hardly credit that a single unliveried swordswoman would be here on behalf of the queen, and I had no idea you were the famous Grey Warden. My sincerest apologies."

Nessa doubted his sincerest apologies were all that sincere. She returned his bow with a shallow nod.

"I'm sure you have many things still on your mind, Captain Kedridge. I hope we'll have time to speak further once we are underway?"

"Oh certainly. Definitely. Allow me to show you to your cabin."

The ship only had two proper cabins – one for the captain and one for distinguished guests. Captain Kedridge took Nessa to the guest cabin while his first mate took the rest of the men below decks to stow their things in the hold. Nessa stood in the center of the room and looked around. The cabin was small, but scrupulously clean and very efficiently arranged. Before her was the window, made up of many small thick panes of glass. To her right, the bed was mounted to the wall, with drawers underneath. A long narrow storage chest was fastened to the opposite wall. Nessa tucked her clothes into the drawers and stowed her pack. Her preparations finished, she went to stand at the window. The rocking of the ship was gentle here in port, but she rested a hand against the sill as she let her knees become accustomed to the motion.

Part of the arrangement with the Captain had been help from the queen's men with loading and unloading the ship's cargo. She should probably go help — though technically she didn't need to and she wasn't really in the mood for people just now. From her vantage point, she couldn't see the dock at all; instead she looked straight out to sea.

She'd been standing there for some time staring sightlessly at green and blue when she felt a prickling between her shoulder blades. Someone was standing in the doorway behind her.

She scowled at her reflection. Zevran could bloody well announce himself if he wanted to be noticed. She wasn't going to turn around. But something in her posture must have given her away, because he spoke.

"The loading is almost finished. We should be on our way soon."

She grunted an acknowledgement. He came into the room, shutting the door behind him, and perched on the edge of the chest.

"We have several days of little to do before we get to Kirkwall," he said. "Perhaps this would be a good time to talk about what is troubling you?"

"Whatever are you talking about?" she asked, her voice laden with sarcasm. "I'm the picture of happiness."

"And I am the queen of Antiva."

She snorted in spite of herself.

"Of course," he added, "If you prefer not to talk, there are always other things we could do."

And there it was. She turned around to look at him.

"Are there?"

He grinned at her. She thought she might be visibly blushing, but resisted the urge to lift a hand to her cheek to check. Instead she crossed her arms.

"It is entirely up to you,  _bella_." Zevran said. "You seemed... interested yesterday. I've made no secret of the fact that I find you beautiful. Why should we not take pleasure from one another's company?"

She was definitely blushing. She rolled her shoulders uncomfortably.

"It sounds so reasonable when you put it that way."

"And why should it not be reasonable?" he asked.

"Well, between friends, it's sort of... complicated, isn't it?"

He lifted an eyebrow. "It does not have to be. You remember Isabela from the Pearl, yes? We are friendly, and we frequently enjoy ourselves together when we meet. Making love is just another way to share our liking for one another."

Nessa wrinkled her nose.

"But that's… different," she protested. "There's friendly and then there's friends. I don't know how to explain. It's like… Were you friends with Rinna?"

Zevran opened his mouth and shut it again.

"I'm sorry," she said quickly, waving one hand as if she could wipe away the words. "I didn't mean to... forget I asked."

She took a deep breath and forged ahead, looking anywhere but at him.

"I've just… never been in this situation. It was one thing during the Blight, when we all knew we could die at any moment. But now… where I come from, everyone is obsessed with bloodlines. Unmarried ladies aren't supposed to have sex. You heard how Fergus reacted when he found out about Dairren." She turned back toward the window. "It's not 'proper' to sleep around, and it's even worse if you don't have the excuse of being madly in love." She leaned her forehead against the cool glass of the window. "As if stupidity makes everything all right," she added, her voice tinged with bitterness.

Zevran said nothing to this. After a moment she shrugged.

"On the other hand… I'm not supposed to be part of that life anymore. And the taint probably puts the whole bloodlines issue off the table. So maybe it doesn't matter? I don't know. Everyone keeps pretending that nothing is different, but it  _is_. I am. I wish…" She let the thought trail off unfinished.

Zevran unfolded himself and stood up. The cabin wasn't very large; he didn't have far to go to be right behind her.

"All that matters to me is what  _you_  want," he said in a low voice. "Did you enjoy yourself last night or no? And would you like to do so again?"

Nessa turned to look at him. Last night… she didn't think 'enjoy' was strong enough a word. And there had always been a spark between them. Maybe they deserved a little escape? Maybe it was possible to just have fun, and let tomorrow take care of itself for a little while. She took a deep breath, and let it out slowly.

"I did," she said. "And I would."

His smile grew. "Good. Then let us waste no more time in talk."

He ran his fingers lightly across her lips and she took a slightly uneven breath. Of its own accord, her tongue darted out to touch where he had been. He leaned up to kiss her. A chill ran down her spine, landing somewhere deep in the pit of her stomach. He tasted faintly of cinnamon.

The kiss grew more heated — lips parting, arms tightening, a hint of teeth against her lower lip. But she couldn't quite let go. A niggling voice in the back of her brain insisted there was something not quite right, that this was dangerous. Even though they'd fought and slept and ate together for more than a year, even though he'd had his fingers and tongue on the very core of her the night before… This touch of lips felt significant. Intimate. Risky. Was it a mistake? The idea alarmed her, and she pulled back, searching his face for… something; she wasn't sure what.

He looked up at her through golden lashes, then reached up to unbind her braids.

"Come,  _cara_ , it is time to let your hair down a little, yes?"

She rolled her eyes — his jokes were horrible, always — and he chuckled. His fingers slipped neatly through the twists to loosen them and brush the locks free. He ran his hands up along the back of her neck, kneading at her scalp and easing away tension she hadn't even known was there. It was mesmerizing. Her eyes slid closed, and she let out a long breath. He was right. If she'd decided to do this, she should enjoy it. Maybe it was a mistake. Either way, wasn't it better make the most of it?

He kissed her again, and she wrapped her arms around him, pushing the doubts away. Thinking could happen later. Now she wanted to feel: the angles of his body, the cool of the window at her back, the roughness of the calluses on his fingertips as he traced them down her throat. The heat of his tongue. The brush of his lips as he kissed his way along her jaw, and the prickling down her spine that made her shudder when he nuzzled the sensitive spot below her ear.

He tugged the tail of her shirt out from under her belt, and slid his hands up underneath. His palms were warm against her back, and she almost didn't notice he had untied her breast band until it slid down toward her waist. She untangled herself and leaned back to slip quickly out of band and shirt both. After straightening up again she paused and bit her lip.

"You are gorgeous," he said approvingly.

"I'm scarred." She gave a self-deprecating shrug. She was — the signs of past injuries ran up and down her sword arm and marked her flanks.

"And what makes you think these things do not go together? Your scars are a part of you,  _bella_." He traced gentle fingertips across the largest of them, a thick pink line running up her right bicep, left by an Alpha's axe.

Nessa shivered, and only partly from the touch. She'd come close to losing that arm. If Wynne hadn't been with them…

Sensing the shift in her mood, Zevran tisked. He swung her around by the shoulders so she could see a dim reflection of herself in the window.

"You see?" he said softly, bending so that his lips brushed the scar. "Beautiful."

One of his hands slid over to cup a bare breast, teasing her nipple to tightness between his fingers. His other hand slid down, brushing past her navel, flirting with the top of her pants. Nessa could see the reflection of his hands, his fingers dark against her bare skin. Nothing else was in sight – only the green of water and the blue of sky. Zevran slid her hair aside and was making a trail of kisses and gentle bites down the blade of her shoulder. The rasp of his teeth made her shiver.

"No fair," she said. "I want to see you, too."

Zevran stepped back and whipped off his shirt with a flourish. She smiled — as no doubt he'd intended — and then quickly moved towards him to trace the ink of his tattoos with her fingers. He too had scars; she could feel the rough places hidden under or along the edges of the dark markings. There was still an angry pink streak along his flank from the fight in the woods, and she ran a hand across it, feeling the raised line of the still-healing gash against her palm. Zevran shuddered deliciously from the cool slide of her fingers, and again when she leaned forward to trace the edges of the ink along his shoulder with her lips.

"I think," she said into his skin, dipping her hands lower to trace where the swirls dipped down into his waistband, "that it's my turn."

"Oh is that so?" he inquired, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

"Yes. I also think," she said, stroking both palms slowly down across the bulge at the front of his pants and smiling when he hummed in pleasure, "that you're still wearing too many clothes."

She untied the laces at the front of his pants, brushing her fingers across the growing hardness underneath with each movement as if by accident.

"Off," she said when she was done.

"As my lady commands." He wasted no time, slipping off his boots and then skimming off both trousers and underwear with the same graceful shimmy of his hips.

"You practice that in front of a mirror, don't you?" she accused.

Zevran only laughed, reaching up to cup her cheek and pull her into another kiss. She slid her hands down across his hips and over his bare backside, then gently dragged up with her nails, making him growl. She thought she might never get enough of his skin, warm and silky under her fingers and against her chest.

Nibbling on his lower lip, she nudged him back a few short steps toward the bed. When it hit the back of his knees, she gave him a gentle push. He let himself fall into a graceful sprawl over the coverlet. Nessa took a moment just to look at him – golden limbs spread, hair slightly mussed, his lips red and wet from kissing. He was beautiful.

He propped himself up on one elbow and winked at her.

"I am glad to know you like what you see. Now would you care to join me, or do you prefer to watch?" He reached down to palm his erection, stroking himself slowly.

Nessa bit her lip. "Watching is nice, but I did have something else in mind."

She stripped off her own shoes and pants — conscious of her comparative awkwardness but trying not to let it bother her — before sinking to her knees beside the bed. Sliding between his thighs, she covered his hand with her own. They stroked once together, up and down, before he let go and leaned back on his elbows to let her do as she would. She felt him grow harder in her hand as she took hold of him, and there was an echoing tightness between her own legs. She enjoyed the play of skin between her fingers, teasing up and down his shaft.

Licking her lips, she leaned down to run her tongue up his length, all the way up then over and around. She looked up and met his eyes before taking his cock into her mouth. Zevran hummed with pleasure.

She had imagined this more than a few times, alone in her bed in the dark. She'd envisioned the edge fading from his smile, his breath taking on a ragged edge. But the reality was far better. Her fantasies hadn't properly captured his heat, or the weight of him in her mouth. The way his pulse beat quickly against her tongue. How his eyes darkened with desire. The fact that he made small sounds of pleasure — made them for her, because of her mouth, her hands. It made the tingle between her legs turn to a throb.

"Wherever did a so-proper Fereldan lady learn to do such things?" he teased with a slightly breathless laugh, as he brushed her hair back from her face.

She let his cock free of her mouth with a slight pop.

"Dairren was a reader," she confessed. "Some of his books had very interesting illustrations."

"Mmm, I see," he said, leaning forward to kiss her. "You shall have to describe them to me sometime."

Gently tugging her off the floor, he settled her into his lap, kissing her all the while. As she rested one knee to either side of his hips, she felt his cock brush up against her. She gasped, and he pulled her in tighter still, both hands splayed across her ass. She was trapped between his grasp and his hardness; her pulse beat wildly. His hot wet mouth captured one of her breasts.

"Zevran," she moaned.

He transferred his mouth to her other breast while he continued to rock her hips closer. Each time she rubbed against him she felt a jolt of electricity. He flicked his tongue against her nipple and she hissed. One hand slowly worked down between them, until his fingertips brushed up against her, compounding squeeze and brush and heat and… her head fell back as she gave in to it, shaking with pleasure as the sparks ran up her spine.

His hands stilled as he gave her a moment to recover.

"I'm sorry,  _bella_  — was there something you wished to say?"

He was wearing that smile again, she realized. The incredibly dirty one. Only this time he looked smug as well.

"I can stop, if you wish to gather your thoughts," he added, his eyes glinting with mischief.

"Don't you dare," she growled, and pushed his shoulders back toward the bed.

He laughed, and used the momentum of the fall to roll her over, coming up on top. She made a noise of protest, but he simply loomed over her, silencing her with a kiss. The press of his weight on top of her was delicious; she kissed him back, rocking her hips up against him.

"Please," she whimpered, when he pulled back for breath.

He paused and leaned further back, still smiling his wicked smile.

"Ah ah ah… use your words,  _bella_. Please what?"

She groaned in frustration, but he only grinned.

"You must tell me what you want,  _preciosa_ , or how will I know? Perhaps it is this?" He dipped forward to drag his tongue slowly across her nipple. "Or this?" He bit gently at her throat.

She thrust her hips impatiently, but still he waited.

"I want you inside me," she whispered, embarrassed to say the words. "Please."

He took his cock in hand and brushed it up against her slit, teasing. She whimpered again. Infuriatingly slowly he began to ease inside of her. When he was just barely past her entrance he paused.

"This is enough?" he asked. "You said you wished me inside, but…"

"You are such an asshole," she said between gritted teeth, reaching up to scrape her fingernails across his shoulders and down his back. His eyes half closed and his breath caught. She felt a sudden surge of delight.

"Like that, do you?" she murmured.

He didn't answer with words; instead he began to move in earnest at last, pushing her back down into the bed and rocking his hips in a steady rhythm that brought just a little bit more of him inside of her with each thrust. She threaded demanding fingers into his hair, pulling his mouth to hers and kissing him hungrily. The steady rock became an urgent clash, pull and push, searching… Finally his cock rubbed just there, just right, at the perfect spot. She groaned.

"Yes, please. Yes, there. Maker…"

He kept going, taking her right to the maddening edge. She could feel the pressure building; she was so close, but no matter how she bucked against him she couldn't quite… Suddenly he shifted his hips, and plunged in again. The tantalizing ebb became a flood, and she came with a shudder.

She was dimly aware that Zevran stilled to watch her climax, his eyes bright and hungry. Once she stopped shaking he moved again, his eyes falling closed as he thrust into her. It took only a few quick strokes for him to follow her over the edge, his back arching and a hoarse cry escaping from his lips.

He hung over her for a moment, his head dropping to almost touch her shoulder, before he pulled back to fall on the bed beside her.

 

They lay still for a while, catching their breath. Bits of light jerked crazily across the ceiling from sunlight reflected off the water. The movement was disorienting, and it took a moment for Nessa to realize the sway of the ship had also changed. It seemed they had pushed away from the dock without her realizing it, and were on their way out of the harbor at last.

She was thinking she really ought to move when Zevran spoke.

"No, I wasn't," he said.

She rolled up onto her side, puzzled.

"I was never friends with Rinna," he clarified, still looking at the ceiling. "Crows do not have friends. We were rivals, of a sort. She was very, very good — as was I. We competed passionately, and eventually the passion spilled over into bed. I admired her a greatly; she was beautiful, dangerous, clever. When I felt my feelings start to soften, I... I thought it a weakness. I was frightened. You know what I did."

"You don't have to talk about it. I'm sorry I asked."

He made a restless movement. "If not you, who would I tell? No one else has ever heard the story."

She slid an arm around his waist and hugged him, resting her head on his shoulder. He lay very still at first. It was almost a minute before he took a deep breath and relaxed again, reaching a hand over to stroke her hip.

Nessa burrowed deeper into his shoulder. She hadn't been held this way since… well, it had been a long time. Tension ebbed out of her chest, and her eyes drifted closed.

"If I may ask..." Zevran said some while later, "what about you? Were you friends with Alistair?"

"Yes. At least… I thought so," she said, opening her eyes. "You saw how it was. We laughed when we could, fought as a team. I thought that was all we needed. But in the end I guess neither of us knew the other as well as we thought."

"How so?" asked Zevran.

"I thought he was a man of principle. That he was loyal. But he betrayed what he claimed was the only thing he ever cared about." She shifted. "I'm not talking about me, obviously. The Wardens. Duncan saved him from a life that made him miserable. He said he owed him everything. I just... I know he didn't agree with my decision, but… to leave? Desert the Wardens? I still don't understand it."

"And this is why it troubles you to look for him, yes?"

"He made it perfectly clear he never wanted to see me again. It's going to be... well, dramatic doesn't begin to cover it." She sighed and rolled away from Zevran, climbing off the bed and looking around on the floor for her shirt.

"I suspect he isn't going to come quietly," she said, picking it up and turning it right side out. "We're going to have to either kidnap or arrest him, depending on what we find when we get there. I'm pretty sure there's going to be yelling. Lots of it."

Zevran sat up, looping his arms loosely around his knees as he watched her dress. "I brought my kit; I can always put him to sleep if he acts too much like a spoiled toddler."

"And that," said Nessa, plopping back down on the edge of the bed to pull on her socks, "is why you are my favorite assassin."

She leaned over and gave him a peck on the cheek, then stood up to slip on her boots.

"I'm going to go see if the Captain is still too busy to chat. You're welcome to come along, or you can stay here and look decorative, it's up to you."

"May I come along and look decorative?" he asked.

"You usually do," she answered with a grin, and headed for the door.

* * *

 

Captain Kedridge suggested Nessa join him in his cabin for dinner; he had too much to do above decks until then. He'd seemed disappointed when she informed him that Zevran would accompany her.

"He's my tracking expert," she informed him brightly, "so I need him to hear whatever you have to tell us first hand."

Plus, she added to herself, there was no way she was going to his cabin alone. He was far too oily, and she didn't trust him one bit. However, they needed him to steer the ship, so she couldn't afford to beat him to a pulp. Better to avoid any tempting tete-a-tete, for everyone's sake.

* * *

 

"I had so many refugee passengers before the battle," the captain explained genially as they sat around the table in his cabin. The meal was over, and they lingered over the wine. "No doubt they'd still be coming if it hadn't been for you. Defeating a dragon — now there's a tale I'd like to hear."

He'd been trying to direct the conversation elsewhere all evening; Nessa was starting to be annoyed.

"Perhaps I could tell you about it after we talk about Alistair," she said between clenched teeth.

"It would be impossible to remember all the passengers who have been on this ship, Warden — that's what I'm trying to tell you. Besides, I'll have you know I keep very good records; if this Alistair of yours isn't in them, then he simply wasn't here."

Was she imagining the worried edge to his smile?

"He didn't use his own name," she said firmly. "As I said, I have no doubt that Duncan Grey was Alistair. Subtlety was never his strong point. So as far as I'm concerned, according to the manifest he  _was_  here. He got on in Denerim, and you sailed across to the Free Marches." She leaned forward and gave him a smile that she partly intended to be encouraging rather than a threat. "Please do try to remember. It's really important that we know where he got off the boat."

The captain drank deeply from his mug of ale, then set it firmly on the table.

"I'll need that letter from the queen, then." His voice was suddenly crisp and businesslike. "For my own protection. I promised I wouldn't tell, and I want to make it clear to — to anyone who asks that I was doing my duty to the queen herself."

Nessa gaped. She glanced over to Zevran, who managed to look only mildly interested. She really needed to learn how to do that.

"Well," she said slowly, "I can't give you the letter. I need it for the rest of our trip; for the viscount in Kirkwall, and maybe others as well. But if you've paper and ink, I can make you a copy."

The captain frowned.

"I can also write a letter to the queen's steward, asking him to notarize it with the official seal once you get back to Denerim."

He still looked unconvinced.

"Warden," said Zevran, "why do you not give him a letter to deliver to your friend the queen directly? She will surely see it done if you ask." He smiled at Captain Kedridge. "The Queen and the Hero of Ferelden have been friends from childhood, you see. And she is so very interested in the outcome of the Warden's search."

Thank the Maker for Zevran, Nessa thought. The captain looked like that might be enough to convince him.

"Fine," he said after thinking it over for another minute. "I'll take the copy and the letter. Once I have them in hand, I'll tell you what I know."

"Bring me paper and ink, and I'll do it right now," she said.

The captain fetched the necessary implements from his desk, while Zevran cleared the dishes to the side. Nessa got straight to work. She started with the letter to the queen; just a short, simple note, but signed with all her names and titles. She handed it to the Captain to read while she began the more painstaking task of copying out the official letter. When she was done, they set the documents out on the desk to dry and returned to the table.

"So," Nessa prompted.

"So," said the captain. "This Alistair of yours would have been a big fellow, am I right? Shoulders like an ogre. Light brown hair. Wore an impressive set of plate before he came aboard."

"That's the one," she said, relieved.

"Moped at the rail for most of the trip. I wouldn't have remembered him, mind you, but for the shoulders and the fact that he didn't seem to hear his own name when you called it. He helped us unload at Kirkwall; my crew was a man short, due to a foolish injury en route. They were already diverting refugees to the Gallows by then, but as part of the crew he got through to the docks. I almost offered him a long term job. He could carry more weight in a single trip than two of my boys combined."

"Why didn't you?" she asked.

"Too moody. Men can be unpredictable at sea. It would have taken too many of my boys to take him down if he went wrong — not worth the risk."

Nessa frowned. "So he got into Kirkwall?"

"I told him I needed more coin to take him any farther, and he said he might as well walk. Though how far anyone could get in armor that heavy…"

"You'd be surprised," she said. How many times had they hiked across Ferelden?

"Did he say where he might be walking to?" asked Zevran.

"Seemed to me he didn't rightly know," said the Captain, finishing his ale. "But I didn't ask, so I couldn't say for sure."

And that was that. All they had to do now was wait to get to Kirkwall.


	16. Chapter 16

The ship arrived in Kirkwall in the afternoon, three days later. Even if Nessa hadn't been dreading their arrival, sailing into the City of Chains would have been unsettling. Zevran had explained some of the city's history as a center for the slave trade; sailing through the narrow strait, past the ominous twin statues on their way to the even more ominously named Gallows district, she could imagine an echo of the despair and fear those slaves must have felt. It gave her the shivers.

It turned out that Captain Kedridge's insistence that Nessa and her companions become technically part of his crew hadn't been pure greed; even with the blight over, few passengers of any kind were being allowed past the Gallows without proof of citizenship. After a tense wait and an uncomfortably long conversation between the captain and a uniformed official, they were allowed through to the docks, and everyone put their hands to the unloading.

When at last they were finished, Nessa asked the captain if he had any further advice.

"I've told you everything I know," protested the captain, looking over his shoulder. He'd been nervous from the moment they'd pulled into the Gallows, and was impatient to be gone. Nessa couldn't really blame him.

"Look," he said, "it made no difference to me where the fellow went after he was off my ship. I suppose Lowtown would be the best place to start. For yourself… there are places to stay in the docks district, but I wouldn't recommend it. Keep your eyes sharp wherever you are, especially after dark; Kirkwall makes the worst parts of Denerim look friendly."

He gave her a quick nod and scurried back to his boat, shouting at his men to get moving already – they'd a schedule to keep, and he'd no desire to be stuck in Kirkwall overnight.

"Well, goodbye to you too," Nessa muttered crossly, as she and her party turned away from the ship and walked up the pier towards the main road.

The lieutenant of the queen's guard cleared his throat. "Warden, I think we need to present the queen's letters to the viscount as soon as possible."

"Of course," said Nessa drily. "He'll want to know all about how we all just got smuggled into his city, won't he?"

She hadn't paid the guards much attention during the journey; she looked the lieutenant over now. Clean shaven, every hair neatly in place, his armor highly polished — clearly Glenn was someone used to doing everything by the book. She supposed that was usually a positive quality in a royal guard, but on a mission like this… it might be a problem.

He shifted uncomfortably under her scrutiny and she sighed, hoping they weren't going to have trouble working together. Although the fellow did have a point. Anora had been pretty specific about dealing openly with the viscount.

"Fine," she said. "Why don't you find the palace and see about requesting a formal audience. Make it clear this is just a courtesy call on behalf of the Grey Wardens; we're only here to retrieve a missing Warden, and then we'll be on our way. I don't want to get involved in any conversations about refugees or official Ferelden business."

"Yes, Warden," he said.

"We'll take a quick look around down here and meet you at the palace in an hour or two," she continued. "In fact… why don't you take some of our baggage with you? It will be safer uptown with you than here at the docks."

She handed the bundle that contained her armor and other belongings over to one of his men. She gestured to Brion, who also handed over his bag. Zevran declined with a smile.

Glenn frowned at being made a porter but made no complaint aloud. He gave her a sharp bow and led his two companions up the hill towards the Hightown district.

 

Nessa looked around the docks with some interest. Construction here was very different than at home — not only were the tall buildings all made of stone, but every street was paved with it, down to the smallest alley. The afternoon sun was hazy with smoke, the light falling in long yellow beams which illuminated the dirt in all the crevices. It also warmed the stone walkways, providing heat that she welcomed after days on the cold ocean.

"Left or right?" she asked Zevran.

"If you are wanting to explore the landing, I believe most of the piers are to the left," he said. "Is that your plan?"

"Why not? I'd like to take a look around before we go up to this Lowtown," she said, then frowned. "Up to Lowtown? That's just wrong. Though from the looks of it, everywhere is up from here."

She led the way off to the left. Along the south side of the street were mostly piers and storage sheds along the water; the north side was occupied by multi-story warehouses, the roofs of which were lined with iron spikes. Crews of men and elves carried boxes and pushed hand wagons back and forth. The air was full of the call of seabirds, men shouting back and forth, and the slapping of waves against stone.

They walked the length of the docks without incident. For all the Captain's ominous words, it seemed much like the shipping district of any other large city. They turned and made their way back towards where they'd started.

Just after they passed where the Sea Witch had been moored, Zevran suddenly stopped. He lifted his head and half closed his eyes; Nessa could almost see his nostrils twitching.

"What is it?" she asked.

"That smell," he said. "I think... there must be a shipment from Antiva somewhere down that pier. If you will excuse me for just a moment..." He turned and darted away.

Often Zevran's sudden disappearances meant trouble, but this time he seemed more excited than concerned. Nessa looked at Brion, who shrugged.

"I can't smell a thing other than the harbor," he said.

Nessa agreed; it smelled like old fish, salt, and chamber pot to her nose. There were no odors there she had any interest in chasing.

"We might as well keep walking," she said. "If he wanted company, he'd have waited for it. He'll catch us up when he's ready."

They walked all the way down to the other end of the wharf. The main street ended in another cluster of warehouses.

"I see a lot of activity but hardly anyone who looks official," Nessa said, resting her hands on her hips. "This place must be a haven for smugglers. I wonder where this side street goes? More warehouses? But it follows along the waterfront – let's take a look."

She led Brion down a flight of stairs and around a corner. They almost walked right into a large group of dwarves dressed in dark clothes and bristling with weapons. They made the street gangs she'd fought in Orzamar look friendly.

"My apologies," she started, holding up a hand. "We didn't mean to —"

"For the Carta!" one of them shouted, and suddenly they had all drawn their weapons and were moving toward her. She grabbed hold of her sword just in time to knock back the nearest dwarf before his low swing connected with her knees. She spared half a glance for Brion – he had sent his bow with the queen's men, and was armed only with a pair of daggers — but she didn't have time to do more than step out in front of him in the hopes that they'd come for her first. She cleaved through the second and third dwarves and felt a rush of air at her back. She swung around just in time to see Brion bring down both dagger hilts over the head of the dwarf who'd appeared behind her. He crumpled to the pavement, and Nessa gasped out a quick thanks before turning back to the fight before her, dodging another blow to the knees and striking the attacker with the pommel of her sword. She was without her shield again. Really, it was becoming a habit, she thought — the sort of habit she ought to break.

Suddenly, she heard loud shouts from further down the alley, and a group of humans rushed toward them. Nessa had no idea whether they'd be a help or a hindrance. Regardless, she and Brion ought to work back towards the steps and the main road. She was shouting this over her shoulder when the humans crashed into the back of the group of dwarves and began mowing them down.

Their helpers turned out to be fewer in number than she'd thought from the sound; there were only four of them. She watched them chase down the stragglers of the Carta gang with an impressed shake of her head. Their leader was tall and darkly handsome with a booming voice. Nessa didn't usually go in for beards, but he wore his with a confident air that she had to admit was attractive. He sheathed his enormous broadsword and looked her over briefly. She must look like an idiot, she realized, caught down here in an alley without her armor on. In fact, she was an idiot. What had she been thinking?

"That seems to be all of them," the man said to his companions. "Let's get back to base. Meeran will be spitting mad if he finds out we've been fighting Carta for free out here."

"Thank you," Nessa called out to him.

He gave her a brief nod, then headed up the stairs.

"Are you all right?" asked a dark haired woman, hanging her staff on her back.

"Thank the Maker you all showed up when you did, or we likely wouldn't be," said Nessa.

She sheathed her own sword and turned to Brion, who was cradling one arm to his chest. "You alright?"

He nodded, but she saw blood running through his fingers.

"You don't happen to know where we could find a healer, do you?" Nessa asked.

The woman hesitated, looking over to where the others had vanished. "You're Fereldan, aren't you? Is the blight really over?"

"I saw the archdemon die with my own eyes," Nessa said.

The woman smiled. It softened and changed her whole face, and made her look younger than she'd first appeared. Nessa found herself smiling back.

"Let me see," the woman said, gently moving Brion's hand away. Blood seeped out of a ragged gash in his forearm. She covered the cut with her own hands.

"Not a word about this, to anyone," she said, and a soft blue glow formed under her fingers.

"Bethany!" boomed a voice from somewhere above them.

"Coming!" she called back. She released Brion, and he flexed his fingers with a look of astonishment. Other than a bit of drying blood, there was nothing left of his injury.

"Be more careful, you two," said Bethany. "Stick to the main roads if you can."

And with that she hurried away.

"An apostate mage!" said Nessa with surprise.

"A most interesting development," said Zevran, dropping to the street beside her.

"Zevran," Nessa said with a frown. "Your timing leaves something to be desired."

"My humblest apologies," he said, hand to his heart. "I arrived just in time to see your pretty mage and her friends set on the dwarves. I thought it more prudent to remain hidden in case they turned out to be less than welcoming to you as well. I was not completely useless, I assure you," he added, stooping to retrieve several of his throwing knives from the bodies behind her.

"I suppose I can't really argue with that logic. And it turned out well enough. Is everything all right?"

"Perfectly. Though I rather wish you had waited for me before you decided to go exploring down back alleys. I have a bit more experience in this sort of thing, yes?"

"Well, I've certainly had my fill for the moment," she said. "Let's go up to Hightown and see if we can find the others."

* * *

A walk through Lowtown was enough to convince Nessa that, while it was a likely place to start looking for Alistair, she didn't particularly want to spend the night there. She was growing increasingly anxious. If Kirkwall was as rough as the captain had claimed — and she had evidence now to suggest it was — how had Alistair been able to manage it on his own? What had he had to go through to survive here?

The queen's men had done some discreet research while waiting in the palace, and were able to recommend a few respectable but not outrageous places to stay on the outskirts of Hightown. When it became apparent that their odds of getting an audience that day were practically nil, Nessa set out to find lodging. She dug into the funds the queen had provided to pay for the rooms — one for the queen's men, one for her men, and one for Nessa herself.

She was lying on her bed staring at the ceiling when there was a discreet scratch at her door. She planned to ignore it, but when the scratch came again a minute later and yet again a minute after that, she sighed heavily and got to her feet.

Zevran was lounging in the doorway when she finally got the door unbolted.

"I was beginning to wonder if you had already drifted off to sleep," he said, sliding past her and into the room.

Nessa raised an eyebrow. "Please do come in."

"I should be delighted." He favored her with a small bow from the middle of the room.

She shut the door with a sigh. "I'm beginning to see why people call you insufferable."

"Only beginning? I shall have to work harder, I see," he said with a wink. "A quick thing only, and then I shall be out of your hair and on my way. Unless, of course, you decide you would like me to stay."

She flopped down in the only chair without comment.

Zevran perched on the edge of her bed. "First of all, I must offer apologies about this afternoon. I did not think... that is to say, I forgot your charming penchant for finding trouble the second my back is turned. If I had realized there was danger so close to the main road during daylight, I should not have left."

Nessa rubbed her face. "I know. It's my own fault. I feel like such an amateur — I've never been out of Ferelden before, and I just assumed… For Maker's sake, I gave my armor to Glenn to carry before running off to explore strange back alleys. I wouldn't do that at home! It was stupid. Brion could have gotten seriously hurt."

Zevran clicked his tongue. "There is no cause for embarrassment; you killed many dwarves, yes? You would have been fine even without help."

"Yes, and the first thing I wanted to do on my visit to a new city was kill some of its citizens."

"They attacked you, did they not? They are the ones that made the mistake. But truly," he said, "I might have prepared you better for our arrival. I was distracted by more pleasant things on board ship, yes?"

The way he lifted his eyebrows left no doubt about what he meant. They had been… rather occupied for most of the journey. She flushed.

"I can only offer this, by way of apology."

He produced a small round fruit from a pocket and held it out with a flourish.

"What is that?"

"This, my dear, is an orange. You can tell by the lovely orange color of the skin, can you not?" He cocked his head to one side. "Have you never had an orange before?"

"Not that I can recall, no."

"Then you have a great treat in store."

He dug the edge of his thumbnail under the skin and began to peel. A sharp yet pleasant scent filled the air.

"Oranges such as these are common in Antiva, but it is far too cold for them in Ferelden and the Free Marches. Antivan merchants can make considerable coin shipping them, so long as the conditions are right. If they are not, an entire shipment can be wiped out by mold in a matter of days; so as you might imagine that they are terribly expensive. Well, they are if you are so unfortunate as to pay for them."

"So this is what you were doing?" Nessa asked, amused in spite of herself. "We were under attack by a mad pack of dwarves and you were stealing fruit?"

"Do not judge until you have tasted," he said with a wink.

The bright orange peel pulled free of the fruit in a spiral, sliding between Zevran's fingers as he turned it round and round.

"The peels can be candied with sugar or honey, or dried — the oils are very fragrant, as you have no doubt noticed," he said. He reached over and set the peels aside in a neat pile on the bedside table, then gently split the fruit in half. He separated off one neat section and held it out before Nessa's lips. She reached for it.

"Ah ah ah, no hands," he said, pulling it away. "Oranges can be sticky."

This time, she bit gently into the fruit as he held it. She had to suck quickly to keep the juice from dripping onto her chin. It tasted like nothing she had ever eaten; both sweet and tart, juicy and fibrous. It left a pleasant acidic tingle on her tongue.

Zevran popped the other half of the piece into his mouth while she chewed. He slid further back onto the bed so he could rest his back against the headboard and peeled off another section. He held it up with a questioning look, and Nessa leaned forward, coming up out of her chair to take it from his fingers.

By the fourth slice, she'd given up and crawled onto the bed to sit beside him. Once the first half was gone, she was nibbling and sucking at his fingers as he fed her the fruit. They tasted musky and slightly bitter from the peel.

When they finished the orange, they twined together in a kiss, their lips and tongues sweet with juice.

"Feeling better,  _cara_?" he asked.

"Yes," she admitted.

"Good," he said. "Now let us talk about what you would like to say to the viscount tomorrow."


	17. Chapter 17

They wasted most of their first full day in Kirkwall waiting around for the viscount to have time to see them. When his red-headed bulldog of a seneschal finally escorted them into the audience chamber, the viscount listened courteously enough to their greetings and brief-as-possible explanations. His posture was stooped and he looked as if he'd hardly slept; he raised his eyebrows slightly when they offered skimpy details about their arrival in the city, but asked no uncomfortable questions. He seemed relieved that they simply wanted to do their job and get out with a minimum of fuss.

He gave the seneschal instructions to introduce them to the captain of the guard in case they had need of aid, and gave them leave to do their business and go. The seneschal scowled, but escorted Nessa and her men down the hall and gave them directions to the Guard Captain's office before leaving with a sniff of distaste.

Nessa kept their stay in the barracks as short as possible.

"Let's not ask for help from Guard Captain Jeven if we can help it," she murmured to Zevran as they left the viscount's keep. "He made my shoulders itch. If Haft were here, he'd have bitten him."

"I most certainly agree," said Zevran. "The less of his attention we have, the happier I shall be."

 

The second day they spent down at the docks. Alistair's physical strength had impressed Captain Kedridge; Nessa hoped that others might have had similar thoughts about employing him to move their cargo.

Here they had their first bit of luck. It seemed Alistair had indeed worked some warehouse jobs. They managed to find a few people that had been on crews with him. One or two knew him as Duncan, but most called him Alistair; it seemed he had given up on the alias soon after his arrival. They learned he had admitted to being from Ferelden but otherwise didn't talk about his past, keeping most of his remarks to the work at hand. Nessa remembered, wincing, how silent he had been after Ostegar.

No one they questioned had seen him recently or could say where he might be. Eventually they found an assistant at the Harbormaster's office who knew a little more, after they'd jogged his memory with a few coins.

"Big fella. Could move boxes himself that'd take three or four elves to shift. Got hurt a month or so back and I haven't seen him around since. Nothing serious, just a fall. Drunk, if you ask me. Even if he were healed up by now, I don't know that anyone would take him back. There are a lot of refugees willing to work for cheap around here. People who disappear on the job or damage the merchandise…" He shrugged. "There's no sense in hiring someone unreliable. Too many people are anxious for work."

But the man didn't know where Alistair might have been staying or what he might have done when the work at the docks ran out.

 

The third day they took their search to Lowtown. Nessa, Brion, and Zevran started on the downhill side closest to the docks, where they knew he'd been seen. Nessa split up the group, sending Glenn and his men to the Lowtown market to make inquiries there — mostly because their official-looking demeanor seemed to make people nervous.

Since both local gossip and the messenger in Denerim had said that Alistair had been drinking, the bars seemed like a good place for the rest of them to focus their efforts. But now the sun was starting to move towards the west, and their search had yet to bear fruit.

"How does this happen?" Nessa asked, blinking rapidly. There was so much smoke in the air; that was the only reason her eyes were burning, she told herself firmly. "A Grey Warden and the son of a king is now an itinerant drunk that hardly anyone remembers and nobody cares about?"

"The son of a king is not so different from the son of a whore when he works the docks," Zevran said. His voice was mild, but there was something tense about the line of his jaw.

"You're right, of course," she said, frowning. "Sorry, I turned into my mother for a moment. It's only… He's here, somewhere in this city, or he was very recently. But there's no word of him being taken away, or seen with strangers; his trail just stops. We know  _someone_  found him — why can't we?"

Zevran took a breath as if to speak but said nothing, turning his head to unnecessarily re-scan the street instead.

"Yes," she said as though he'd actually spoken. "If he wouldn't agree to go along with whatever they had planned, they might have… But wouldn't someone know?" She stopped to swallow. "Who would be in charge of… of moving the bodies? Of the street people? Surely that has to be someone's job." She tried not to think too hard about Alistair's body being swept up by an uncaring cleanup crew.

"I will find out," Zevran said briskly. "You and Brion should continue to canvass the bars. I will meet you an hour before sundown at the inn and we shall compare notes."

"Divide and conquer," she agreed, trying not to sound relieved.

He turned and started to move away.

"Zev!" she called, darting after him to tug at his arm. "If you need to, uh…" She bit her lip and let go of him. "Do what you have to. Don't hold back on my account, yeah?"

He evaluated her expression for a moment before giving her a half bow.

"As you wish, my Warden."

He turned away again and slipped down an alley, vanishing from sight.

* * *

There wasn't much left of Lowtown to search. Nessa and Brion even went down to the Alienage. The elves in Kirkwall were less outspoken than those in Denerim; their presence weren't openly challenged. But hostile eyes peered out from dark corners, and the buildings were weathered and drab. The central tree was gray, the bark scarred and peeling in places. The Kirkwall Alienage might be in better repair than the one Nessa knew, but something about it made her uneasy.

"I find it very hard to believe he came down here," Nessa said after a cursory look around, "but I guarantee he would have been noticed if he did."

She approached the least-hostile looking woman she could find. The elf didn't retreat as they walked towards her; she was wringing her hands, clearly preoccupied with her own troubles.

"Excuse me," said Nessa, "I'm sorry to bother you, but we're looking for a friend of mine. Human, tall, shoulders about this wide, short brownish blonde hair. Fereldan. You wouldn't have seen anyone like that, would you?"

The woman blinked at her. "Not many humans other than Templars come here. I haven't seen your friend." She pulled her basket closer to her side, and walked quickly away.

"Thank you," Nessa called to the woman's retreating back. She exchanged a glance with Brion and shrugged. They attempted to question one or two other elves with no better success. After a while they gave up, heading back up the steps towards the market. There was one last street to canvas before they reached the market itself and rejoined Glenn and his men.

After passing through a square surrounded by private residences — slightly nicer than the buildings in the Alienage, but not by much — they turned left and continued down the road.

Nessa stopped under a large sign which swayed slightly in the smoke-scented air.

"Is it supposed to be a person? Hanging upside down?" Brion asked.

Nessa cocked her head, trying to get a better view. "I think so? It's a business of some kind, anyway. Let's find out."

She squared her shoulders and pushed open the door. The tavern inside was much larger than she had expected. The light was dim, and it smelled of sour beer, but there was faint music coming from the far corner of the room. A flight of stairs at the back led up to what were probably rooms for rent. The bartender was having an animated discussion with a pair of men who leaned on the counter with full tankards in front of them.

They found an empty table and sat, ordering beer from a passing serving girl. When she returned with the ale, Nessa launched into her description of Alistair. The woman tossed a quick look over her shoulder to see if the barman was watching, then took a rag from her belt and wiped halfheartedly at the table.

"Alistair, you say? You know, think I might remember him. Hair's a bit longer than what you said, but the color's right enough. Not bad looking for a drunk. Never groped, apologized when we threw him out… respectful-like."

"That's Alistair. Respectful right up until he turns around and bites your head off," said Nessa, trying not to wince.  _Not bad looking for a drunk_. She swallowed hard.

"Any idea where he is now?" asked Brion.

The woman shrugged. "Nah. Fereldan drunks are thick as cats around here, you can kick 'em on every street corner. Haven't seen him around in, oh, I dunno. A couple of weeks, I guess."

Nessa's shoulders slumped. "Thanks for your trouble. Have one on me." She gave the woman a coin. The waitress tucked it neatly into her bodice before returning to the bar.

Nessa plopped her elbows on the table and buried her face in her hands.

"This is hopeless," she said roughly.

"It's not hopeless; not quite yet," Brion said. He took a tentative sip of his beer. "The ale's drinkable. You should have some."

He nodded towards her mug, and Nessa unfolded enough to pick it up.

"We know we're in the right area, at least," Brion continued after a second, larger sip. "He was here, regular enough for the staff to know his name. Someone has to have seen what happened to him."

"Maybe," said Nessa. "I don't know. I'm beginning to think Kirkwall is a place where people are really good at not seeing anything at all."

They finished their beer, debating the merits of questioning the bar patrons themselves versus fetching Glenn and his men first. More people meant less legwork, but possibly less likelihood of any real answers. They hadn't quite decided when the server bustled back up to their table.

"Remembered something that might interest you," she said. "That Alistair of yours — a man came to see him. Fereldan accent. He was too well dressed to be from around here. They might have left together, but I don't really know."

Nessa brightened. "Now  _that_  is helpful." She gave the woman another coin.


	18. Chapter 18

Nessa woke to a rush of cool air as someone disrupted her nest of blankets. A slender arm slid around her waist, and she felt a brush of lips at the back of her neck.

"Zev? What are you doing?" she asked groggily.

"I was cold," he answered. As if to prove it, he slid a hand under her nightshirt and trailed chilly fingertips around her navel. She shivered. Reaching back to swat at his thigh, she touched only bare skin.

"Maybe you're cold because you aren't wearing any clothes."

"They were dirty, so I took them off. I did not think you would thank me for getting soot in your sheets. The rooftops of Kirkwall are not exactly what I would call clean."

"S'pose you're right. Scouting then?"

"Mmm hmm," he said. His hand crept up to explore the underside of her breast. The cold touch against her warm skin made her nipples pucker.

"I was sleeping," she protested faintly.

"But you are not sleeping now, are you?" he purred in her ear.

She half sat up abruptly.

"My door was locked."

"I came in through the window," he said into her shoulder, his lips buzzing along her skin.

"Well, that's comforting," she said grumpily. Now that her eyes were open, she realized that it was dawn. The window in question glowed with soft blue light.

Zevran was right, though; it was chilly. She settled back down into the bed, scooting up against him to share her warmth. He wrapped his arms around her, pushing his face into the back of her neck with a contented sigh. The open affection of the gesture surprised and pleased her, and she smiled into her pillow. She'd been feeling a bit cautious around him the past few days — resisting the urge to touch him in passing, or to say anything that might be construed as… well, anything. He had said  _friends_ , and she tried to do nothing that would give the impression of anything more. Whether she felt anything more — well, with so much on her mind, it hadn't been so difficult to avoid thinking about that.

But now here he was  _snuggling_. And yes, he'd started out with roaming fingers, but he wasn't seducing now. He simply lay close to her, soaking up her heat. She could feel his breath against her shoulder. It was nice.

Though… she was pretty awake now. Going back to sleep was probably not a great idea, and a little seducing might not be entirely out of place. She wiggled herself back closer to him. The sliding motion of her hips brought her rear up against his stomach, and she found not all of him was cold. He let out an appreciative hum and his hand resumed its lazy stroke across her breasts. He circled one nipple with the pad of his thumb, and then the other with his fingertips.

Raising her arm to give him easier access, she reached up over her shoulder to thread her fingers into his hair. His breath quickened and his touch changed, less lazy now. She arched her back to press her breasts more firmly into his hand while grinding her behind into his groin. He groaned softly into her ear and began pressing his hips against her in earnest. She could feel him through her smalls, his cock nestled in the cleft of her buttocks, growing harder each time he moved.

She rotated in his arms, her legs tangling in the sheets before she reached down to thrust them impatiently away. Their lips met in a kiss as she wrapped her arms about his neck. He smelled of salt air and soot, and his nose was cold but his lips and tongue were warm. Sliding a knee between his thighs, she pushed his erection up against her hip. Reaching down, she wrapped her fingers around him, feeling him jerk and harden under her touch. Zevran buried his face in her neck, his arms wrapped around her and breath ghosting across her skin.

But the angle wasn't good enough, she decided. She let go to push against his shoulder, pressing him down flat along the bed, swinging herself up to straddle his hips. Zevran's eyes gleamed as she threaded her fingers through his and drew his hands up over his head, pushing them back against the pillow. She kissed him again, and shifted her hips until his hardness pressed against her in just the right spot, where her nerves tingled and throbbed.

"Yes," he hissed, bucking up against her in response.

His cock stuttered against the damp cotton of her smalls as she moved against him, the friction sending waves through her.

She let go of his hands and sat up to remove her nightshirt.

He followed the edge of the fabric with his fingers, tracing the muscles at her sides, sliding up against her skin.

"You are so beautiful,  _cara_ ," he said breathlessly when she emerged. "Your skin is like silk, like fire, like snow."

His hands moved farther still to circle her breasts. She reached down to take hold of his cock, sliding her fingers over and down, pulling him up against her and rolling her hips.

"Yes, yes, like that," he said. His accent grew heavier with arousal; she could hear it deepening now. "Use my cock to pleasure yourself,  _bella_. Take what you like, and allow me to watch."

She took a shuddering breath and worked her hips, pulling the length of him along her most sensitive places; every stroke brought a rush of pleasure. Even through her smalls, she knew Zevran could feel her heat; his breath came in gasps.

"You are gorgeous when you are roused like this," he said, his voice husky and rough. "Your mouth, it falls open, so, in the perfect shape. Your eyes grow dark, like a storm."

She let out a small sound. His voice always did things to her — spiked her pulse and set fire to her insides. He lowered one hand to rub his thumb against her, just above his cock, so that she was caught between, massaged and circled in time with the jerking of her hips.

"I want to watch you,  _preciosa_ ," he said. "To watch you fall apart, come to pieces. For me,  _cara_. Come for me."

She met his eyes. His pupils were blown wide, and the intensity of his gaze went straight into her. She gasped.

" _Amor_ ," he whispered. "Come for me. Please."

Over the edge she fell.

Nessa collapsed onto his chest for a breath or two. Once she could move again, she rolled off onto her back to tug off her smalls. Zevran quickly settled himself between her knees, his cock hovering just out of reach.

She grabbed at his shoulders, sliding her arms around his back and trying to pull him on and into her. He laughed breathlessly at her impatience, but his eyes were dark with want; he didn't have the patience now to tease.

Both of them groaned as he slid inside her. Nessa wrapped her legs around his waist, opening herself up to him, pulling him deeper. With a hiss of pleasure, he sank into her, holding still for a moment before pulling back slightly to slide in again, deeper. His arms shook ever so slightly, and again he paused.

Nessa rocked her hips, and he moaned something that might have been her name. He pushed into her slowly at first, but quickly gained speed. She held on for dear life, her arms folded around his shoulders and her legs still wrapped around his hips. He lowered his head to kiss her roughly, his thrusts growing faster and more erratic, until he could no longer hold back. His breath was ragged, his eyes fell closed. She felt him shudder as he came and his shaking pushed her over the edge again.

 

He lay atop her for a moment, catching his breath. She threaded her fingers into his hair and pressed her lips to his cheek. When he made to shift, she tightened her arms.

"Don't go yet," she said.

He lifted his head to look at her. His eyes were serious, and for a moment he looked as though he would speak. She shivered, not knowing why. Instead, he shook his head slightly, kissing the end of her nose before sliding out of her arms and off the end of the bed.

"The sun is up,  _bella_ ," he said, as he rooted around on the floor for his clothes. "It's time to get moving. We have much to do today, I think."

Nessa pulled the sheet up over herself, feeling chilled without his body next to her.

"What's the rush?"

"Well," he said, sliding his pants over his hips, "my scouting was successful, I think. I may have found out where they have hidden our missing Warden."

"What?" asked Nessa, sitting up abruptly.

"I will need your help to know for sure," he said, picking up his shirt. "You Wardens can sense one another, yes? That will help us know we are in the right place. I have seen someone who may have been Alistair, but he is… somewhat changed, and it was very dark." He pulled the shirt over his head. "So, you and I should have a quick hop across the rooftops to make sure, and then we can decide what is to be done."

Nessa shivered. Zevran pulled a shirt out of her bag and tossed it to her.

"The sooner we look,  _bella_ , the sooner we'll know. We should get moving."

She sighed and reached for the shirt.

* * *

  

"Why is it always heights?" Nessa asked plaintively.

"It is plenty wide for walking on," Zevran said cheerfully, standing in the middle of the beam which ran over the alley between the two buildings. "You have hardly to alter your stride at all. It is only the look of it which frightens you."

Nessa looked at plank that he stood on, and then down at the four story drop.

"It certainly does frighten me," she agreed.

"At least you are not wearing a skirt," he said with a grin.

"Ha ha. Look, can't you just tell me about the place? Why do I have to see it?"

"Because it is easier this way. And because we need to see if your Warden sense tingles. And most of all because we are not giving in to your fear, which is irrational. Come," he said, stepping toward her and holding out his hands.

Reluctantly, she allowed him take her hands and draw her forward. She stepped up onto the beam, glanced down, and froze.

"Really, Zev, I don't think I can."

"Do not look where you are stepping," he said. "Look at me instead."

"Don't look where I'm stepping? Do you want me to fall?"

"You are not going to fall. You can fight, you can swim, you can climb a tree with your armor on – I have seen you do these things."

"I don't really like climbing trees very much," she said through clenched teeth.

"But you can do so, no? Well, this is easier still. A woman of your talents is perfectly able to walk in a straight line. Do not look down, look at me. Go where I go." He took a step back. Nessa's feet refused to move.

"Come,  _mi amor_ ," he said gently, taking another step. Their arms were pulled almost straight. "It is foolish to stand here. You are no safer standing where you are than walking."

He tugged gently and she took a step.

"Good," he said, taking another step back. "Again." They took a few steps one at a time, and then he set a gentle pace, walking steadily backwards.

"That's right,  _bella_. Only a few steps more. It is nothing, you see? No — keep your eyes on me. Am I not handsome enough for you? Do you tire of looking at me already?"

She stuck her tongue out at him and he laughed. One more step took him off the beam and onto the solid roof behind him; she scampered the last two steps to end up in his arms. He kissed her.

"See? I told you all would be fine."

"We're going to have to go back that same way, aren't we?"

"Let us worry about one thing at a time," he said.

 

They were standing on the flat roof of a large warehouse. It was littered with debris and from the cracks in the surface, Nessa suspected it leaked when it rained. Two spike-lined light wells were spaced thirty feet or so apart, to bring daylight down into the rooms below. The spikes also lined the front edges of the roof — too large to be designed to keep the birds away, yet the walls here were too high for a man to scale easily. Griffons were extinct, and the spikes weren't nearly large enough to deter a dragon. Were they just decorative? A symbol of Kirkwall pride?

They scrambled — Zevran gracefully, Nessa less so — across the debris toward the street side of the building. As they approached the final light well, Zevran dropped to a crouch and gestured for Nessa to do the same. They crept to the edge, switching to their hands and knees as they came up against the iron railing. Nessa was suddenly glad of the long spikes, no matter what their purpose.

"Try to see into the window across the way, one story down," said Zevran in a low voice.

The opening was large, and had no glass or covering. She could make out a table and chairs close by the window but little else in the room. But maybe… did she feel a sort of tug? The faintest buzz of static down her spine that meant darkspawn were near… or a Warden.

Movement focused her attention. A man dropped heavily into one of the chairs. He clasped his hands together tightly atop the table and looked intently down at them. His dirty hair hung lank against his cheeks, swinging forward to cover his eyes. All the same…

"Alistair," she breathed. "Oh Maker, he looks awful."

She covered her mouth with both hands. The clothes he wore hung loosely about him as though he had lost weight, and there were shadows under his eyes. His chin was dark with a scraggly beard.

He glanced out the window, and his brow furrowed. He scanned the light well with suspicion; unable to find anything wrong, he returned his gaze to the table, shifting restlessly in his chair.

"Oh Maker," Nessa whispered again. He must have felt her presence, just as she could his. She dropped her hands and started to move back.

"Wait a moment longer," whispered Zevran. "That is not all I wished you to see."

Nessa took a deep breath and stopped where she was.

Suddenly, Alistair looked up — not all the way up toward where they crouched on the roof, but across the room. He gave a reluctant half smile, and said something to the man who came to sit beside him.

Nessa gasped. "That's... that's Teagan Guerrin."

"Indeed it is," said Zevran.

"But it can't be!" she hissed. "He said he was going to Rainsfere!"

"He is in Kirkwall now, it would seem."

The man had come to sit across the table from Alistair and was speaking urgently to him in a low voice. Nessa couldn't understand the words, but she recognized the sound well enough. There was no doubt about it; the Fereldan who met Alistair at the bar must have been Teagan.

"What is he doing here? He told me he was going home!" Nessa protested again.

"Come," said Zevran. "Quietly, while they are distracted."

They backed away on their hands and knees until they were out of sight of the light well. As soon as they were far enough away to stand upright without being seen, Nessa turned and looked back, tugging at a shirt sleeve with anxious fingers.

"I never would have thought Teagan, of all people. I knew something was wrong that night at dinner. I was dreading the trip to Highever so much I assumed…"

She took a deep breath, and her eyes met Zevran's. "One thing's for sure. If Teagan is here, Eamon's in it up to his eyeballs."

"Colorfully expressed — but otherwise precisely what I have been thinking," said Zevran. "Let us go. This is not the place for talking, I think."

Nessa's trip back over the plank across the alley was easier than expected — she had too much else on her mind this time to let fear slow her down. She put her hand on Zevran's shoulder, gripping tightly, and followed him across without a word.


	19. Chapter 19

With Zevran's help, Nessa constructed a map of the area around the warehouse, using items from her pack. A sock for the main street, a roll of bandages for the block of buildings across the way, a hair tie marking the light well.

"I do not know, my Warden," Zevran said, re-arranging the pieces until he was satisfied. "This is all needlessly complicated. We have found the target; in Antiva, we would simply assassinate him, collect our money and go. I could do it myself in an hour. Instead, there is all the extra difficulty — beat back the guard but don't kill them, separate out the Warden from his protectors, get him across an ocean — only to drag him up in front of a person who wishes him dead in the first place." He shrugged, keeping his eyes trained on the table top. "I know this queen of yours is well known for her wisdom, but… I do not think she is using it in this case."

"He's her husband's brother," Nessa protested faintly, though she thought Anora's decision had little to do with Cailan. She was fairly certain it had quite a bit to do with Nessa herself and a promise that had been made.

"Pah," scoffed Zevran. "In Antiva, royal relatives far closer than that are separated every day by the Crows."

"We aren't  _in_  Antiva. And this is Alistair we're talking about," she said sharply. "You do remember Alistair, right? Big fellow, likes cheese, makes really bad jokes? I know you weren't exactly friends, but how many times did he pull you out of the fire?"

Zevran still wouldn't look at her. Shoulders slightly hunched, he continued to adjust the makeshift map. Nessa couldn't stand to watch him anymore. She turned in a restless circle, then crossed to the window and looked out. She pushed her knuckles into the wood of the window sill, hard enough that they grew white from the pressure.

"You may be able to forget all that, but I can't," she said. "It doesn't matter what he's done since. We owe him."

She stared unseeing out the window. Zevran said nothing. The wind carried the smell of smoke and the cries of the market sellers through the window. Finally, she shrugged.

"It's time to fetch the others, I think."

"As you wish, Warden."

His chair made a scraping sound as he pushed back from the table. She closed her eyes, knowing he had gone only by the sound of the door thumping shut behind him.

She turned from the window, rubbing at her temples. A fight with Zevran was the absolute last thing she needed right now.

"Focus. This is just a rescue mission like any other," she said under her breath. "You've done this a hundred times."

 

She was standing over the map when the guards and Brion arrived. She gestured for them all to gather around, then showed them the map and laid out her plan.

"Alistair is housed on the third floor of this warehouse. They keep a guard stationed here, on the balcony at the front of the building, overlooking the street as well as the rooms behind. We can't approach the front without the guard sounding the alarm, so we need to take him down first. It will be easiest if we wait until after dark."

She looked at Brion, then tapped the map. "I want you here across the street, on the roof. You'll be at least one story higher than the guard, so if he's watching the street you should be able to get close enough to get a good shot before he sees you. I need you to take him out, as quickly and quietly as possible."

Brion nodded.

"I'll be here," she said, indicating a spot on the ground just out of the sentry's line of sight, "with you two." She nodded at the queen's guardsmen. "Once the sentry is down, Brion will signal and we'll head in through the front door. Brion, you climb down and come in behind us as quickly as you can."

Zevran spoke up from where he sat perched on the windowsill. "You may be able to use the so-called security spikes to attach a rope which will make the descent much quicker… but test carefully before you depend on them."

"Right," Brion said. He sounded nervous about the idea.

Nessa cleared her throat. "Logic says there can't be that many guards – probably no more then there are of us. It's too hard to get into the city for them to have brought a large group, and we haven't heard any rumors of mercenaries being hired in this area. My guess is that they bribed the Kirkwall guard or snuck in like we did, then found Alistair and took him into custody. They're either waiting for their ship or for some signal from Denerim that it's safe to go home. Our plan is to slip in, disarm them, and capture Alistair and Bann Teagan."

Glenn let out a grunt of surprise.

"Zevran and I saw him with our own eyes this morning. So you understand why it's important that we work quickly and quietly. Take prisoners when you can — the more of them we can bring back to Anora, the better — but it is imperative that we take Alistair and the Bann unharmed."

"Where will I be?" asked Glenn impatiently.

"Well," Nessa said with a ghost of a smile, "how do you feel about heights?"

* * *

 The afternoon flew by in a flurry of activity. Glenn took one of his men and went to the docks to see about hiring a ship to take them all home. Zevran spent an amusing half hour using the other guard as a model to show Brion all the places a skilled archer could take out a man in full plate with a single shot. The guard's face grew paler and paler as Zevran described the various injuries in graphic and disturbing detail. It wasn't kind but it was educational, so Nessa let him have at it.

Once the lesson was over, she sent Zevran and the guard to the docks to scout, and went with Brion to try to secure new lodgings close to the water. It was far easier than she had expected to find someone willing to take her money and not ask too many questions; she rented an entire floor of a dilapidated old building from a shifty looking woman in stained leathers who hardly spoke a comprehensible word during the entire transaction. Nessa shuddered as she walked out. She couldn’t wait to get home; the longer she spent in Kirkwall, the more she hated the place. 

When they got back to their rooms, Nessa studied the bottle that Zevran had left for her — a potion to help her sleep for a while. In the end, she didn't take it. She simply sat in her empty room, watching the shadows grow slowly longer, turning the bottle over and over in her fingers.

Full dark did come eventually. When it did, she gathered up the men, settled with the Hightown innkeeper, and led the way to the docks.

* * *

Nessa and the two guardsmen waited in the dark for Brion's signal. They'd been in place for nearly an hour, and her nerves were all tied up in knots. Her helmet made her feel as though she were suffocating, and she struggled not to fidget as a drop of sweat slid slowly down through her hairline and along the back of her neck. The Kirkwall docks at night had not been as quiet as she had hoped – in order to get into position, they'd needed Zevran's help to get past a gang of disreputable-looking thugs. He'd lured them away by setting off some sort of noise bomb down a side alley. The thugs had decided to investigate, and Nessa and her guards slipped by behind them. She hoped the incident hadn't hampered Zevran's ability to get into place on the rooftop. She also hoped they didn't circle back this way and stumble on her hiding place.

The waiting was always the hardest part of an ambush. Keeping quiet in full armor was difficult, and there was too much time to think about everything that might go wrong. Finally, Nessa heard a noise; a distant clang that might have been metal against stone. A few moments later, Brion moved into view above and gave them a wave.

She waved back, and they moved on toward the warehouse. The door was locked, of course, and they had to kick it in. Nessa hoped that Teagan's guards would be far enough away not to become suspicious; there was a good chance that the late night activity in the area meant their entry would blend in with all the other noise. The three of them waited just inside the door, listening hard for a few moments. When no answering sound came from above, they moved farther into the warehouse, taking a quick look around into the various rooms on the ground floor to make sure there wouldn't be any surprises from behind. Once they made sure the floor was clear, they headed for the stairs. Brion caught up to them as they carried out a similar investigation on the second floor.

"Nice work up there," Nessa said quietly.

He nodded his thanks, and they kept moving. The second floor also turned out to be empty; they were just finishing their search when they heard a shout from somewhere above. Nessa wondered, as they ran for the stairs, if her ears were playing tricks on her or if the shout had come from Alistair.

When they clattered to the top of the stairs, they saw Glenn holding off two armored men, while Zevran stooped over someone on the floor. Teagan hung slightly back, carrying a sword but wearing only pants and a shirt. Nessa shouted.

"Bann Teagan! All of you, put down your weapons and no one will get hurt."

There was a slight pause as everyone turned to look at her. She swore and tugged off her helmet. Teagan recognized her the moment she emerged; he took two steps back, and set his sword on the floor.

One of his guards wavered; the other, who she belatedly recognized as the supposed servant from Denerim, shouted and came pelting toward her. Nessa's companions cut him down before he could close the distance.

"Put down your weapon," she warned the remaining man. "I'm not going to say it again." He slowly stooped and laid his sword and dagger on the floor.

"Tie them up," Nessa said to Glenn. She moved as quickly as she could towards Zevran.

"What happened?" she asked. Alistair was lying very still on the floor at his feet.

"Hit with a dart, no more," Zevran assured her. "His pulse is more rapid than I would like, but he should be fine. There was... quite a bit of noise during our arrival." His eyes flicked meaningfully towards Glenn. "Alistair was not sleeping or restrained, which we had not anticipated, and he was the first to respond. A dart was the fastest way to ensure he came to no lasting hurt." He stood, and looked about the room. "We should not linger here. Some sort of sling can be arranged, perhaps?" He gestured to a cot along the wall

"Yes," she said. "We'll use the blankets. Take Teagan and his man with you, and leave me Brion and Glenn to help with Alistair. We'll meet you at our rooms by the waterfront."


	20. Chapter 20

Zevran went to fetch Nessa when Alistair finally began to stir. The prisoners had been hustled down the street and into their new lodgings without incident. Alistair had been heaved not-quite-gently onto a bed in one room, while Teagan was escorted firmly into another. Each of them were watched by one of the queen's men, while the third guard and Brion were sent off to rest for a few hours. Nessa had elected to question the Bann's guard, who was feigning a sudden and unlikely inability to speak the common tongue, mumbling only a few short phrases over and over in Orlesian.

Zevran eased the door open silently and hesitated. Nessa looked exhausted. She had clearly not taken his advice to sleep this afternoon; he was not surprised but he misliked it all the same. And here he was to add to her troubles… but she had been quite clear in her demands to see Alistair as soon as he woke. Bad as that idea might be, Zevran had promised to inform her.

They had not spoken alone since his unwelcome advice this morning; had not had time to do so, even if either of them had desired it. Zevran stood by what he had said. It would have been better for everyone, likely even Alistair himself. The queen would not object if he were killed; he was certain that only her promises to Nessa made her stay her hand. Alistair conspired with Anora's enemies and had deserted his friends. Was not death the usual fate for such?

He cringed inwardly even as he had the thought. He himself had been a deserter once. Nessa had spared him; not only saving his life, but defending him from his former fellows. It was unworthy of him to expect her to do otherwise, even for Alistair.

Not that he had truly expected any such thing; it had been a hope, only.

He had been standing in the doorway for a few moments before she looked up. It had never been a particular skill of hers to sense a watcher from a distance; he was pleased to see she was improving. She gave him an enquiring look and he nodded. Then he eased the door closed again and returned to Alistair's room. It was taking some time for Alistair to recover from sedation; he was groaning dismally, still lying on the cot where they had dumped him.

Zevran allowed the door to close behind him with an audible thump. Alistair sat up abruptly at the sound, looking almost immediately as though he regretted the movement. Clumsily, he swung his bare feet down to the floor and braced his hands on his knees. His skin was pale and his shirt clung damply to his chest. He sucked in several slow breaths before he seemed able to look up. His eyes shifted from Zevran to the queen's man and back again. He squinted and frowned.

"Zevran?"

"Indeed it is, my friend. I trust you had a pleasant rest?"

"Not altogether," said Alistair. "What — what's going on?" He looked around the room, realized he was the only prisoner, and stood up unsteadily. "Where am I? Where's Teagan?"

"Bann Teagan is just across the hall. You would do better to sit back down, I think," said Zevran, eyeing the way the warrior swayed on his feet. The mixture on the dart had clearly been stronger than necessary for a man grown so thin. All the same, he felt no regret. It had been important to postpone the coming scene until they had made their escape. He would have postponed it still longer, had it been up to him.

"Are you here to kill me?" Alistair asked, sounding resigned to the possibility. "I'd rather die on my feet."

"Not at this time, no."

Alistair sank back down onto the bed and rubbed his face with shaking hands. "You're working for Anora, I take it?"

"I myself? Only indirectly," said Zevran.

The door swung open behind him, and Nessa stepped into the room.

"Maker's bloody balls," said Alistair.

Both Zevran and Nessa stopped short, surprised at the blasphemy.

"I should have known it was you," Alistair said, his lips curling in a sneer. "Zevran always did sniff around your heels like a bitch in heat. I have nothing to say to you."

He lay back down on the bed, rolling over to turn his back on them.

Zevran's hands twitched, but he glanced at Nessa and remained where he was. Nessa said nothing, her eyes blinking rapidly. Abruptly, she turned on her heel and left. The door banged shut behind her.

No one else moved. The queen's guard wore the stoic face of a man whose job it was to hear nothing. Zevran watched Alistair's back through narrowed eyes. Alistair's sides heaved as though he had been running, but otherwise he remained still. For a time, no one spoke. Then Zevran shook his head and tisked.

"That was unwise, my friend," he said softly. "Your fellow Warden is all that stands between you and much unpleasantness. I should be more careful were I you."

Then he too turned and left the room.

* * *

Nessa stormed out into the hall, blinking back tears of rage. She drew back her arm, tempted to punch the wall — the queen could bloody well pay for the damages. She didn't, in the end; she decided she'd rather choke down her temper than give Alistair the satisfaction of hearing her lose it. She took a few deep breaths, wiped her face, and pushed back her shoulders. After a belated look down the hall to make sure no one was watching, she opened the door to Teagan's room and stepped inside.

The Orlesian was in the chair where she'd left him under Glenn's watchful eye. The Bann sat on the bed, his wrists still bound in front of him. His shoulders were slumped and his eyes were on the floor. Nessa felt a pang of guilt.

"Bann Teagan," she said formally. "I would prefer to treat you in a manner befitting your rank. In order to do so, I need your word of honor that you will accept my custody and make no attempt to escape."

He looked at her, and sat up a bit straighter. "I so swear," he said.

Nessa nodded. "Glenn, please free his hands, and put the Orlesian across the hall with Alistair. You should plan out a watch schedule and get some sleep."

"Yes, Warden," Glenn said, and did as she asked.

"Thank you," said Teagan, rubbing at his wrists.

"No problem," said Nessa, pulling the newly unoccupied chair over towards the bed so she could sit opposite him. "Care to tell me what the hell is going on?"

Teagan ran his hands over his face.

"I hardly know where to begin," he said.

"Start with Eamon," she suggested.

He grimaced. "I suppose it does start there. You never knew Eamon before Loghain had him poisoned, did you?"

"The poisoning was Howe's idea," she said automatically.

Teagan's lips tightened.

"Loghain was also at fault," she admitted. "Yes. Eamon and I had met, but I didn't know him well. He wasn't one of father's particular friends, or the sort who makes a fuss over other people's children. He was generally well liked – I do remember that."

"He was a different person," said Teagan. "He was always ambitious, but he cared about his people, about what was right. He was a good man. After…" He spread his hands. "That demon had him trapped in the Fade, you know, for almost all the time that he was ill. It's no wonder he came back changed."

"The Fade can do strange things to a person," she said, thinking about her own waking visit there. It had been disorienting, horrifying — and she had been able to break free in a day. Eamon had been stranded in that foggy, ever-changing world and tormented for weeks.

"Since then, I'm not sure he's cared about anything but getting revenge for what was done to him. He put a good face on it, but he was livid when you passed over Alistair. Then you made Loghain a Warden, and he died killing the archdemon. People couldn't stop talking about his heroic sacrifice… it just made everything worse."

"So he has it in for Anora because she's Loghain's daughter. But what does Orlais have to do with it? Is the ambassador involved?"

Teagan looked puzzled. "Ambassador?"

"You expect me to believe you didn't know Empress Celene was sending an ambassador?"

He shook his head. "It's nothing to do with the Empress," he said slowly. "Unless… Eamon went to Isolde's family, and they sent men and money. Orlesian politics are extremely complicated; I couldn't begin to explain. The Great Game, they call it. Each noble house tries to embarrass the others or put them at a disadvantage. If the Empress is treating with Anora, it all makes more sense. Isolde's family would gain influence and power in the Game if they were behind Anora's removal from power while the Empress supported her. I don't know if that's the case — not for certain. I tried to stay out of it as much as I could."

"So Ferelden government is a game to them. Fantastic." Nessa grimaced. "How did you get involved?"

Teagan put his face in his hands. Nessa waited.

"Isolde is pregnant," he said eventually.

"I don't… oh.  _Oh_. I take it Eamon isn't the father?"

Teagan came out from behind his hands, but continued to look at the floor.

"She was alone and so afraid. I did what I could to comfort her; we thought... I, at least, never thought Eamon would recover. The Urn of Sacred Ashes was a legend, a fairy tale. When you found it and brought home the ashes… we meant to end it, right away. But Eamon was so distant — angry about Connor, and that she'd lied about his magic. I was the only one she had left to turn to." He rubbed his eyes. "All her friends and waiting women had died when the demon… and Eamon would barely speak to her. If she'd told him when Connor's magic first started to show, the boy would have gone to the Circle. He'd still be alive. She almost couldn't bear the guilt."

"But the Circle fell, remember?" Nessa said softly. "A blood mage staged a coup, and the place was paved with demons. Most of the mages died, including a lot of the apprentices. In a blight, nowhere is safe. For anyone."

She stood, and put a hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry, Teagan. We have to take you to the queen. Eamon has to answer for this."

His shoulders slumped. "I know."

"I'll do what I can for you," she said. "You acted to protect Isolde; Anora might understand. I can't make any promises but… I'll try."

She was most of the way to the door when he spoke again.

"Warden — be easy on Alistair, if you can."

Nessa turned, reluctantly. "I know he's been drinking," she said. "We overheard your messenger."

"It's been... rough. He's been dry for a few weeks now and I believe the worst danger is past. Still, he'll need help. He's not eating or sleeping as he should…"

"And my being here only makes it worse," she finished.

"I know you were trying to do what you thought was right," he said.

Anger washed over her. "I was trying to save Ferelden," she said acidly. "It worked, as you may recall."

Teagan flinched. "I know, my lady," he said. "But you should understand that not everyone sees it that way."

For the second time that morning, she turned abruptly and left the room without a word.

* * *

There was a persistent ache behind Nessa's right eye, and her feet were throbbing. It had been a long day, and not just because of the lack of sleep. Her nerves still jangling from the morning's revelations, she'd headed out to the docks. Glenn's attempt to find a ship the day before had failed, so she'd taken Brion with her to visit the Harbormaster. The man was decidedly less helpful than his Denerim counterpart — in the end she gave up on him, deciding instead to work her way up and down the whole waterfront talking to various ship crew members directly. Her efforts met with no success.

Brion stayed blessedly silent for the duration of the outing. He didn't complain or try to comfort her; he simply followed her around like a tall dark shadow, hands on the hilts of his daggers. She was thankful.

They returned to their rented rooms as the sun was setting. Nessa talked briefly with Glenn to make sure his guard rotation didn't require her assistance, and then retreated to an empty room at the far end of the hall. She lit the fat candle which sat on the rickety dresser, took off her boots, and pulled out her braids. She knew she should sleep, but she couldn't seem to sit still, much less lie down. Some minutes later, she was wearing a groove on the stained wooden floor at the foot of the bed when she heard a creak behind her. She turned, unsurprised to see Zevran shutting the door behind him.

"I hear you had no luck today," he said.

"None whatsoever," she said dismally. "Every captain I spoke to claimed to be full up with cargo. They weren't interested in getting involved with Fereldens or Grey Wardens or any of it. We're too far from home, I guess; the queen's letter didn't seem to mean anything to them. I don't know what we're going to do."

She turned away, leaning her hands on either side of the narrow window and looking out at the wall on the other side of the alley. It was in serious need of a new coat of whitewash.

"We will find a ship soon, I am certain," he said soothingly.

"I'm beginning to doubt it."

"You are only tired and discouraged,  _bella_. You will feel better once you get some rest," said Zevran, coming up behind her. His hands settled on her hips, and his lips grazed her shoulder through her shirt.

"Zev, I – I'm not really in the mood. If that's okay."

"As you wish." He took a step back, releasing her. "I can leave you to your thoughts. Perhaps I shall go do some exploring and see if I can pick up any news. Unless you have a different task for me?"

She turned around and leaned against the windowsill. "I don't really want to be alone," she admitted, biting her lip. "I just keep thinking about the same things over and over. Would you – would you stay for a while?"

She was nervous about asking. Recent arguments aside, Zevran didn't usually linger in her rooms. They made love, they talked if there were things to talk about, and then he would slip away before she fell asleep. Whether he went directly to bed in the room he usually shared with Brion or whether he just didn't sleep very much, Nessa wasn't entirely sure.

The silence grew uncomfortably long. Zevran had half turned away and was absently smoothing the covers of the bed, his face blank. She shifted uneasily, wondering if she should take back the question. At the sound of her movement, he looked up. He blinked at her for a moment as though he couldn't quite gather up his thoughts from wherever they had wandered.

"Ahh — yes, I could stay for a time," he said.

"Thanks," she said, relieved.

He puttered around the room while she changed into a nightshirt, chattering meaninglessly about Kirkwall. How different it was from Antiva, or even Ferelden; how curious the layout of the city was — designed to separate the people rather than bring them together. By the time she climbed into bed, he had his head out the window, looking down to the street below. She waited for him to turn back to the room, then reached a hand towards him. He gave her a curious little half smile, then slipped off his boots before crossing to the bed and settling down next to her. He stayed on top of the blankets, but scooted close to her, a solid presence at her back. His arm curled around her waist.

"Sleep,  _cara_ ," he murmured into her hair. "I will watch over you."

She curled her arm over his, twining their fingers together.

"Better already," she said.

Safe and warm, she snuggled back into him. Her body relaxed. In a surprisingly short time she was fast asleep.


	21. Chapter 21

Nessa woke sometime in the middle of the night. It was very dark; the candle had burnt down to nothing and gone out. There was only enough moonlight from her tiny window to give the suggestion of shape to the items in the room. She sat up to look for the sound which had woken her. There was a mound on the bed beside her — Zevran had stayed, she realized with surprise. He appeared to be sleeping, but not easily or well. He lay on top of the covers, fully clothed, and his limbs jerked sharply. He made a noise of protest, then mumbled something she didn't understand. She wasn't sure if it was Antivan or just the garbled speech of nightmare.

"Zev?" She scooted closer. "Hey. Hey, it's all right." His head turned toward the sound of her voice, so she leaned over and wrapped an arm around him.

She should have known that would be a mistake.

Before she could do more than gasp, she found herself flat on her back. Zevran had flipped from prone to his knees in one quick snap, and was pinning her down into the bed. His knee dug into her pelvis, and the hard bone of his forearm was pressed tight against her throat, making it difficult to breathe. It took all her self control not to struggle. If she fought him, she would lose — she had no doubt about that, especially tangled in the blankets as she was — so she willed her body to remain still.

"It's Nessa," she choked out.

There was a long, terrible pause before he eased the pressure on her throat and sat back. Nessa rolled onto her side, gasping for air. Zevran melted backwards off the bed. By the time she recovered enough to look he was all the way across the room, his outline barely visible in the dim light.

"I am sorry," he said faintly.

"No, it's my fault," she said, struggling to sit up. "I should have known better than to wake you that way. You were having a nightmare – I didn't think." She stopped to cough. Zevran seemed to have pulled farther back into the shadows by the time she finished. She wished she could see his face. Or… any of him at all.

"If you are all right..." he said. His voice didn't come from where she'd expected him to be. She heard a rustling from the corner near the window and thought maybe he was putting on his boots.

"I'm fine, I promise. Zev..." She pushed back the blankets and started to rise.

"Then I believe I should go," he said quickly. "I will check on our friends, yes? Make sure that Glenn knows how to set a proper watch."

Nessa frowned in the dark. "Are you okay?"

"Perfectly so," he said, moving in front of the window so she could see him at last. He gave her an careless smile and a shrug.

"It was a dream and nothing more. Truth be told, I have many such. You should go back to sleep, Warden. It will be a busy and unpleasant day tomorrow."

He slid open the window and eased his shoulders through. It was a tight fit, even for Zevran. Once his upper body was outside, he pulled the rest of himself up and out. His boots rested on the windowsill for only a moment before he disappeared altogether.

He was embarrassed about trying to kill her; she understood that. It was all right; it had been an accident. But she had an uneasy feeling that wasn't the only thing wrong. He'd been strange and stiff all day. And why had he gone out the window when the people he said he wanted to check on were just down the hall? It didn't make any sense.

* * *

Zevran slithered out the window, grabbing hold of the frame and yanking his hips through the narrow opening. He rested his feet on the sill while he worked out a path; then started up the wall. Jamming his fingertips into the cracks between the stones, he made his way brick by brick to the roof. His feet were not much help with boots on, but he could carry his weight on his hands for this short distance. Once he swung up onto the roof, he dusted himself off and looked out over Kirkwall.

What he had told Nessa had not been a lie; he was indeed frequently plagued with nightmares. Truly, with all that he had seen and done it would be surprising if he were not. While he had a set of carefully cultivated callouses, a sort of armor for the heart, this protection faded without careful maintenance. Perhaps he'd been neglecting it of late.

But no matter how he fought to shield himself, he had always dreamed. He had nightmares of the hunt, of predator becoming prey. He had nightmares of training, where over and over he failed the tests and died. He had wrenching nightmares of Rinna's tears and the hot red wash of her blood. Since Orzammar he'd had nightmares of never ending tunnels, stale air filled with the whispers of darkspawn and the weight of mountains pressing down. But never before had he felt so trapped, reaching for a woman with storm blue eyes who laughed as she turned away.

He paced the perimeter of the roof, twitching with the urge to run. When Nessa had been hesitant to become lovers… he had pitied her small-mindedness and thought her limited by the traditions of her upbringing. Now he realized it had been he who had been naïve. The irony was laughable, though he could not bring himself to feel amused.

Perhaps he should go. The Blight was over. He had kept his oath, passed pleasant times as well as unpleasant, learned many things. He had met some fine people and enjoyed his time with them. But the world was wide. There was much to see and do.

Zevran stretched his neck, rolled his shoulders. He took off at a run, leaping from the edge of the roof, sailing over the cobbled street below, and landing with a neat roll on the opposite rooftop. He travelled quickly and lightly over the tops of the buildings, away from the water and out of the Docks district.


	22. Chapter 22

It took Nessa a long time to get back to sleep. With eyes straining through the blackness, she lay alone with her unquiet thoughts. Was Zevran really alright? She knew a few things about nightmares, and it had sounded pretty intense. And then he'd been an an awful rush to get away. And what would he find? Had Glenn set up a proper watch? Was Alistair sleeping or was he too lying in the dark, awake and anxious? She wouldn't be able to avoid him tomorrow; would he deign to speak to her? Next time would she be able to hold on to her temper or would she plant her fist straight into his jaw?

Long after her pulse slowed and the adrenaline rush from Zevran's attack had faded, her brain kept turning. The sky was beginning to lighten before she finally fell back to sleep.

 

When she awoke the next morning, the sun was high in the sky. She dressed quickly, annoyed with herself. There was far too much to do; she couldn't expect the others to pick up the slack while she lazed around in bed like a pampered lady. Why hadn't someone wakened her? Why hadn't she woken herself? They were all tired — that was no excuse. Worst of all, she just knew Glen would be smug about it.

When she emerged from her room and looked down the hall, she saw Zevran leaning casually against the wall chatting with Brion. The pressure in her chest eased and she drew in a long breath. Of course he was here, and everything was fine. Her worries had been foolish — just vestiges of anxiety from the rest of the day. She straightened her shoulders and headed tower them.

Zevran's eyes flicked briefly towards her, but he gave no other indication that he'd noticed her. He seemed to be in the middle of telling a story that had the normally low-key Brion laughing uproariously.

"Good morning," she called out, smiling brightly. Better to act as though last night hadn't happened, she figured — especially in front of the others. There would be time enough for questions later.

Brion gave her a cheerful "Morning!" and Zevran pushed off the wall to sweep her a dramatic bow.

"You are awake at last, I see. I have just been telling our handsome archer here how I found us a ship," he said.

"A ship? You're amazing! How did you do it?"

"It was simply a matter of finding the right tavern," he said, with a slightly-too-casual shrug.

She raised an eyebrow.

"Ship captains are by nature gamblers, no? Why else would they risk so much, sailing on the open water?"

He winked at Brion, who grinned back. Nessa had the distinct feeling she was missing the punchline to a joke. Neither of them looked inclined to share, and she tried to swallow her annoyance.

"What exactly did you wager?" she asked instead.

"Coin I did not have, of course."

"I could have… You might have gotten in serious trouble."

"But I did not," he said. "And all has turned out for the best; we will be on our way home today. I think I am not the only one who is eager to be away from this place."

Nessa's brow wrinkled. There was something off about his voice and the way he wouldn't quite meet her eye.

"Now, we must get moving quickly, yes?" he continued. "Our new captain is eager to be on his way. The tide will turn soon; if we are not there, he will leave without us."

Nessa grimaced. He was right; they couldn't lose their chance at a ship. There would be time enough once they were on board to figure out what was going on.

* * *

Their trip to the pier must have been an odd sight even for Kirkwall. Zevran and Nessa led the way with Bann Teagan between them. The Bann was unrestrained; Nessa kept close just in case, but he'd promised to cooperate and she believed him. Behind them were Alistair and the Orlesian guard, each with their hands shackled. Their bonds were held by the queen's guardsmen, while Glenn and Brion kept a watchful eye on everyone from the rear. They attracted more than a few curious glances, but their short journey passed without incident.

Zevran led them to a pier near the far end of the docks, where a large ship sat low in the water.

"Rafi!" Zevran called as they approached.

A short and darkly handsome Rivaini answered, lifting a hand to them from the ship's deck. He wore his black hair long and loosely pulled back. His beard was neatly braided into two points, gold beads dangling from each; gold also hung from his ears and wrapped around his wrists. He greeted Zevran like an old friend, giving him a hand to pull him up the ladder and hugging him effusively.

"You are here at last! I was beginning to think you were not coming." He slung an arm around Zevran's shoulders and gestured to the ship at large. "Is she not as beautiful as I told you?"

"Far more so, I think," Zevran answered, smiling at the man and not looking at the ship at all.

There was a strange undercurrent to their conversation. Nessa didn't know what it was about, only that she didn't like it.

"Come, get your people on board and settle in," the captain continued. "I'll give you a proper tour later on." He squeezed Zevran's shoulder again, and his hand trailed lightly down the elf's back before he stepped away, shouting for some of his men to get down to the pier and help the passengers aboard.

Nessa watched the bustle through narrowed eyes, teeth worrying at her lower lip. It seemed the reputation of Rivaini for being unusually handsy was more than idle gossip. She'd have to keep an eye on this fellow. Beside and a bit behind her, Alistair snorted. She glanced over to see what he found so amusing and saw that he was looking at her, eyebrows raised and lips curled in a sardonic smile. She quickly looked away, rearranging her expression into something more pleased and less annoyed.

"You heard the man," she said to the rest of them. "Let's go."

Nessa snorted in disgust when she got down into the hold. The Rivaini's ship had six small cabins built into the lower deck, as well as a larger open area with hammocks strung between the beams. She wondered if the captain remembered that she'd spoken with him the day before; there was quite a bit more room down here than she'd been led to believe. She tried to remember to just be thankful that they were on board now. Zevran had apparently negotiated the use of the cabins for their own party; the rooms were hardly large enough to contain a pair of bunks, but far more private and secure than she'd had any reason to expect.

Alistair and the Orlesian guard were locked in right away; Teagan was allowed the freedom to go above deck, so long as he stayed with Nessa. Restrictions would be loosened for all of them, she told him, once they were farther away from port. Out at sea there would be nowhere else for them to go, and they'd be free to roam until they approached in Ferelden.

They stood together at the rail as they sailed away from the Gallows.

"I'm sorry it had to end this way," she said, as they slid past the enormous bronze statues at the harbor's mouth. "I never wanted to be here."

"Part of me is relieved," Teagan admitted. "I should never have let my brother involve me in this."

Nessa nodded.

"I told him it was madness, but he wouldn't listen. None of what happened to him was Anora's fault," he said. "But Eamon insisted, and I didn't know what else to do. He promised if I helped bring Alistair back, he'd keep quiet and raise the child as his own heir," he continued. "Otherwise, he was going to publicly put Isolde and the baby aside — send her back to her family in disgrace. I couldn't let her suffer for my mistakes."

"Isolde made her own share of mistakes, Teagan," Nessa said. "She's a grown woman and deserves some responsibility for what happened. But… if it becomes necessary, I'll see she and the child are looked after. You have my word."

"Thank you, Warden," he said, bowing his head.

 

Once the cliffs of Kirkwall were far enough behind them to make swimming a daunting prospect, Nessa left the rail and headed below decks. Alistair would probably appreciate some fresh air. Maybe even if she was the one to give him access to it.

The first thing she noticed when she stepped down into the lower corridor was that Zevran was already there; he was lounging in Alistair's open doorway. The second thing she noticed was the sour smell leaking out into the hall. Teagan had said Alistair was having trouble with food — and the rocking of the boat was unlikely to help him keep things down.

"It will be easier if you sleep, my friend," Zevran was saying. "I can give you something for that, if you like."

"I don't think so." She couldn't see Alistair's face but his voice was tense with suspicion. "I know you, Zevran. You never call anyone you actually like 'friend' – only your marks. I'm not taking anything from you."

Zevran raised his eyebrows. "A most interesting observation. In this case, my intention is to be of help; but please yourself. You have only to let me know if you change your mind."

He took a step back out of the room and turned to Nessa with a sweeping "all yours" gesture. Then he passed her by and climbed the stairs towards the deck.

Nessa approached the door with some trepidation. Alistair was pale and unhappy looking, but he seemed no worse than when she'd first seen him a few days ago. Someone had allowed or encouraged him to shave the day before, and the front of his hair was tied back in a tail rather than hanging in his face. That he didn't immediately bite her head off the moment she came into view was a good sign — though maybe he'd just burned up most of his energy arguing with Zevran.

"You can come up on deck, if you want," Nessa said. "It might help to get some air."

He nodded stiffly, and stood. He leaned down to reach for the bucket on the floor beside the bed and froze. His eyes closed and his nostrils flared as he he took a few heavy breaths.

"Just go," Nessa said. "I'll take care of that."

Alistair looked torn between a desire to argue and an urgent need to get above deck.

"Fine," he said abruptly, and pushed out the door past her.

Nessa carried the bucket out to the rail, lowering it down with a rope to wash it out in the waves. Alistair stood some distance away, his eyes closed and his face turned into the wind. He gripped the rail so tightly his knuckles were white. She decided to leave him in peace for the moment, and took the bucket back to his cabin.

 

When she returned to the deck, she looked around until she found Zevran perched on a crate, well out of the way of the crew. His hands were busy with a small silver knife, which he was using to scrape the husk off of some stringy plant roots. He looked up when she approached, but said nothing, returning his focus to his work.

There was a second, smaller crate nearby — she scooted it slightly closer and sat down. One of his eyebrows lifted slightly, but he made no other comment. So much silence was out of character; Nessa found it unnerving. Still, she sat and watched him work for several minutes without breaking it. His fingers moved quickly and neatly, and the knife flashed in the sun.

"Does the knife have to be silver, or can I help?" she asked eventually.

"It is better if I do this myself. Cowsbane must be carefully handled. Any cut too deep will release the juice, and you would not wish to get it on your fingers. Also, I was lucky to come by this in the market at all; I'd rather none were wasted."

"Oh. Okay."

She tucked up her knees and wrapped her arms around them. Her eyes wandered towards the foredeck. The captain was looking over his charts with a tall woman she assumed was his first mate. The pair of them seemed to be in good humored disagreement about something. It looked to her like the captain was pulling rank over the mate's objections; he laughed, and slapped the woman on the back.

He was clearly charming. He was just as clearly fond of Zevran. Knowing what she did about Zevran's methods, in the end she couldn't help asking.

"Do you really like him?"

Zevran looked up, following her line of sight briefly before looking back down at his work.

"I would not leave him my purse to hold, but he is a handsome man enough. He's more than half a pirate; but we needed a ship and he had one." He shrugged one shoulder. "It has worked out well, I think."

"I talked to him yesterday, you know. He claimed not to have room for us."

Zevran smiled down at his hands. "There is much to be gained by the right approach."

"So you do like him. Well enough to..." She paused, uncertain how to ask but unwilling to let the subject drop.

"To what, Warden?" Zevran cocked his head and gave her a mocking smile. "Are you suggesting we might have been gambling with more than coin? Does that so shock you? Or perhaps it pains you to benefit from such a thing."

She swallowed, hard. Searching for a suitable reply, she suddenly realized she recognized his expression. He wore exactly that smile when Wynne and the others had tried to question him, prying into his past. She had found it amusing back then; Wynne had gotten under Nessa's skin a time or two and she'd figured the old woman deserved what she got. But — putting aside the question of whether Nessa herself deserved it now or not — she knew if Zevran was already on the defensive she would never get a straight answer.

"Look, you didn't have to..." She stopped, and bit her lip. Better not to finish that sentence out loud.

He seemed to have understood it nonetheless.

"Did I not? I seem to recall someone telling me I should 'do what I had to do'?'"

Nessa flushed.

"That's not quite what I meant," she said.

"Indeed? Than what did you mean?"

"I meant I didn't want to... to limit you, or change your style. I know you enjoy..." she wrinkled her nose. No need to finish that, either. "And you always say it's the easiest way. But I never meant you to think I would choose that for you. Or that I would ask you to do something you didn't want."

"Well," he said cooly. "It is well that we iron out this misunderstanding. If I do not, as you say, 'enjoy' a thing, I do not do it."

He gathered up the roots and slid them into a small leather pouch, then scooped up the remaining husks in one hand. "Now I need to dispose of these, and I believe our Captain is trying to attract my attention."

Nessa turned to look; the Riviani was certainly looking their way, his hands on his hips and a speculative smile on his face.

"I had better see what he desires," said Zevran. "After all the trouble he has gone to, I prefer not to keep him waiting."

Nessa felt sick to her stomach. Zevran had a flair for crudely putting people in their place — she'd seen it plenty of times. He'd never done it to her before, though. Seized with an urgent need to be somewhere else, she surged to her feet and lurched towards the ladder to the hold, almost crashing into Brion in the process. He reached out a hand to steady her, but she brushed past it without a word.


	23. Chapter 23

It was late afternoon before Nessa re-emerged on deck. The sun was low in the sky, partly obscured by high fast-moving clouds. It emerged suddenly, flashing red before her eyes; she shielded them with one hand as looked across the deck. Alistair stood alone at the rail, his hair ruffled in the wind as he stared out over the water. He shuffled his feet restlessly, but seemed steadier than he'd been that morning. Perhaps the fresh air had done him some good. She approached slowly, letting the thud of her boots announce her presence. He frowned but seemed resigned to the inevitable.

She had spent a good part of the afternoon planning this conversation; the key, she'd decided, was to keep it focused on the practical — talk about the future, not the past. He said nothing when she came to stand beside him at the rail, simply eyeing her warily.

"Whatever Teagan promised you isn't going to happen, I'm afraid," she began.

"Yes, I'd worked that out for myself," he said tartly. "I'm not stupid, you know."

"I know." She rubbed her forehead. It was harder than she'd anticipated not to blurt out a hundred questions. If he was so smart, why had he run away to Kirkwall? Why hadn't he taken better care of himself? Was what she had done so very terrible that it was worth all this? She took a deep breath.

"We'll be taking you all back to Denerim, to Anora. I suspect you know that too."

"You think?" He turned his eyes away to the water. "It's what happens after that I don't know."

"It's possible you'll go back to Fort Drakon, at least at first."

"Like father, like daughter," he muttered.

Nessa shook her head, but didn't contradict him out loud. "So far, I don't think you've technically done anything wrong, so maybe you won't. But I can't say the same for Teagan… or Eamon."

Alistair shifted as though he would argue, but said nothing.

"It's possible…" It was almost certainly a bad idea to mention this, but she'd been wondering about it. If Anora wasn't going to kill Alistair, she had to do  _something_  with him, and there weren't that many options. It might be better to get him to think through what those options might entail? Just in case?

"Anora may want to work out… a different sort of arrangement. She has to put an end to people's ability to use you to undermine her."

"An 'arrangement' like my death, you mean."

"If that was her plan, I wouldn't be here. You know  _that_ , I hope. She might be thinking of something… more formal. A sort of alliance. Between the two of you."

He glanced over at her, scowling. "Well, that's easy to answer," he said. "I'd rather die than marry that bitch. Honestly. And I'll be happy to tell her so."

Nessa winced. She should have just kept her mouth shut.

"There might be another possibility," she said quickly. "I may be able to convince her to release you to the Wardens, provided you went to Weisshaupt or Ansburg… somewhere out of Ferelden."

"I don't need any more 'favors' from you, thanks very much," he said sharply. "You've done quite enough."

"What, Alistair?" she snapped. If he was going to start this… well, it wasn't her fault. "Other than saving your life, what horrible favors am I supposed to have done for you?"

"You've got to be kidding. Or have you somehow forgot that you stood up at the Landsmeet, in front of everybody, and said I wasn't good enough to be king?"

They were really going to have this conversation now, it seemed — right here on deck. Fine. She didn't have anything to hide.

"That's not what I said. I said Anora should continue as queen. That isn't the same at all."

"Right," he snarled. "And I'm sure that's exactly what everyone thought you meant. They knew we were… we were Wardens together, and you didn't think I could cut it. It's the same thing."

"That is ridiculous," she said through clenched teeth. "I can only say again what I said then. Anora had already been doing the job — she was raised and trained for it since she was a kid. I'm sorry that Eamon kept you to the kennels with the dogs then sent you to the Chantry instead of treating you like a king's son; but he did. And even so — in spite of all of that, before the Landsmeet I went to you and I  _asked_  what you wanted. And you never answered the question. You certainly didn't say anything I could interpret as, 'Yes, Nessa, what I want more than anything is to become the King of Ferelden.' I would have put you forward if you had  _asked_  me."

"I didn't think I had to ask," he said bitterly. "I would have expected someone who said they loved me to believe in me."

"So I'm a horrible person because I wasn't able to read your mind."

He flushed, and his palm smashed down on the railing with an audible smack.

"You're a horrible person because you don't care about anyone but yourself! You only saw what you wanted to see, didn't you? You made all your choices to serve yourself. You certainly made sure you had  _your_  chance at revenge."

"And  _there_  we have the real problem," she said, throwing up her hands.

"When you said the Arl of Denerim had to go, no one questioned it," he snapped. "We followed you right down into the dungeon to help you fight him. 'Spare the elf rapist, I know him and he might be useful' you said — and you should have seen Zevran's face, though I saw how careful you were not to look — but the Arl, who cared if he might have been useful? He had to die because you said so. You barely let him get a word in."

Nessa's face was red and her hands clenched. This was a rant that had clearly been building for a long time. She drew breath to say something, anything, to try to stop the tide of words but Alistair kept going.

"But when it was someone else's turn, all of a sudden revenge was  _petty_  and  _selfish_. You didn't care that Duncan and the Wardens were the only family I had. Loghain killed them, and he deserved to die. It was my turn, and you just shut me down like — like nothing I could possibly have to say was important."

She felt like he'd kicked her in the stomach.

He wasn't wrong.

Her need to avenge her family had burned brighter and stronger the closer they'd gotten to Howe. Her head hadn't cleared enough to look at the bigger picture until after she'd rammed her sword through his Fade-taken stomach. If someone had tried to stop her, saying that Howe might be  _useful_ … she didn't know what she'd have done. It probably would not have involved stepping gracefully aside. But that was exactly what she had expected Alistair to do.

"That," he said, with clear satisfaction at getting in the last word, "is what you did to me. Glad we could clear that up."

He turned his back on her and stalked down into the hold, leaving her standing alone on the deck in shocked silence. Many of the sailors were staring; others were looking away so pointedly that she knew they'd been hanging on every word. She turned out to face the water, gripping the rail hard enough to sink her nails into the wood. This conversation was not over; not by a long shot.

* * *

 

That night, Nessa tossed and turned in her tiny cabin. Eventually she gave up on the attempt to sleep, tossing the blanket aside and sliding out of her bunk to pace the four steps across the tiny room over and over, churning on Alistair's words. She tried to tell herself that he was wrong… but she didn't believe it. The more she thought about what he'd said, the worse she felt.

She didn't regret her support for Anora; she stood by that decision. But Loghain… she knew the idea of recruiting him would be hard for Alistair — why hadn't she anticipated just  _how_  hard? It hadn't been a wrong decision; but it hadn't been a compassionate one either.

Some part of her had been thinking of Anora's feelings — but even that had been partly selfish. She felt the loss of her own family so keenly; she hadn't wanted to put her friend through the pain of losing her father if it could be helped. Especially in so public and brutal a manner.

But the truth was she had mostly been thinking about the upcoming battle and how scared she was. How it was on her shoulders to win or lose, and how many lives hung in the balance. Loghain had been the king's general, with years of experience of leading armies into combat. His skills were a tool — he had been  _useful_ , as Alistair had said — and her decision to conscript him hadn't been as cool or rational as she had claimed. She'd been grasping at straws, afraid of what was coming and not trusting that she could get through it on her own.

That she had thought of herself as  _on her own_ , when her fellow Warden and lover was standing by… she didn't like what that said, about either of them. Certainly it meant nothing good for the pair of them together. Maybe their nascent relationship had always been doomed. Not a true partnership, just a different kind of grasping — clinging to a hope that there might be something good in the middle of all the chaos. A wish for safety, nothing more.

 

And Maker, how she missed Zevran. If only she could talk this out with him… he always made her feel better. But other than that decidedly uncomfortable non-argument this afternoon, he'd hardly said two sentences directly to her since he'd left through the window last night. Something more had happened then a simple nightmare; she wished he would tell her what it was. He didn't talk about his feelings, she knew; but she hadn't had this kind of cool distant attitude from him… well, ever.

It was his absence that hurt, far more than whatever had or hadn't happened with the ship's captain. It felt like — like he had always been there, hovering at her shoulder, and now he was gone. It had been annoying sometimes — okay, a lot of the time — but she'd never realized how comforting it had been until he was suddenly gone.

She was not going to cry about it. She just needed some air. Maybe a walk around the deck would help her calm down so she could sleep. She grabbed her cloak and slipped it on before climbing the steep stairs up to the deck.

 

The moon was only half full, but the sky was clear and the deck was washed with starlight. Nessa stood in the doorway for a moment, taking it in and letting the shadows resolve into concrete shapes. As if her thoughts had conjured him up, she spotted the outline of an elf seated on the deck, his back to a stack of crates. His hands were loosely clasped around his knees and his head lay back against the wood, eyes closed. The silvery light made his hair looks white instead of blonde. She cautiously stepped towards him.

When she was still a few paces away, she softly said, "Zev? You awake?"

"It is safe to approach, Warden."

There was just a hint of amusement in his voice. No doubt he'd known it was her as soon as she reached the deck. Maybe before that. She felt a surge of irritated affection as she dropped to sit cross-legged in front of him. Close enough to touch, if he wanted… but not too close.

Zevran did not move or open his eyes. A breeze stirred his hair, and the smell of whiskey teased her nostrils.

It shouldn't worry her, she decided. He'd been with the sailors all day, and from what she'd seen discipline on Rafi's ship was a bit… loose. And no, she was not going to waste time wondering how he'd spent the evening while she had been hiding away in her cabin.

He still hadn't spoken. She bit nervously at her thumbnail.

"I'm sorry about this afternoon," she said tentatively, when she'd decided he really was just going to sit there in silence.

His shoulder lifted slightly in a shrug. "You said nothing that was… incorrect."

"But I upset you and I didn't mean to. I feel like a mabari at a palace dinner, sometimes. I'm always crashing into things and knocking them over."

His lips twitched. "Indeed. That was quite a chat you had with Alistair this afternoon, was it not? Do not worry, Warden. You will have him eating out of the palm of your hand once more in no time at all."

"Don't," she said sharply.

His eyebrow twitched, but made no other move. He still hadn't opened his eyes. Perhaps he was drunk after all. Nessa twined her hands together.

"That isn't what I want," she said finally.

"Ah, but it is so seldom about what we want."

She reached out to lay cold fingers on the back of his hand.

"Why isn't it? Why can't it be, this once?"

He let go of his knees, sliding his hands away and opening his eyes. It was too dark to see the expression in them, but his voice was flat and calm. "Because life does not work that way. Surely you know this by now?"

She bit her lip, wanting to argue but not sure how to begin. He didn't give her the chance; he stood carefully, levering himself to his feet with the help of the crate behind him.

"I am tired, I think, and wish to sleep. Goodnight, my… Warden."

And just like that he was gone, leaving her alone on the deck with only stars for company.


	24. Chapter 24

Nessa never did go back to bed. A few hours after sunrise found her at the stern of the ship, watching the water flow away behind them. The wind had picked up during the night, and she'd heard the first mate say they were making decent time. But they were only one day into their voyage, and Nessa wasn't sure she was going to be able to make it three more days without throwing someone overboard... or possibly jumping ship herself.

She'd been trying to plan her rebuttal to yesterday's attack from Alistair, at least in theory. Mostly she was just watching the waves and wishing she were elsewhere. It didn't matter much — he hadn't emerged from below decks since their argument. No doubt he was too busy savoring his victory.

Zevran, on the other hand, had been all too visible. The wind was steady and the weather good, leaving most of the sailors with little to do; he had emerged at first light and planted himself in their midst, gambling and telling stories and generally making himself the most popular person on board. No doubt he was enjoying the experience of being knee-deep in admiring sailors. The fact that it gave Nessa no opening in which to try to talk to him again might be only a side benefit. Or it might be the whole point. For the hundredth time, she wondered what had changed to make him avoid her like this.

She heard a soft cough from behind her, and her hands tightened on the rail in annoyance. Couldn't a woman brood in peace?

"Ser?"

"Don't 'ser' me right now, Brion," she said tartly. "We're in the middle of the sodding ocean. Either stand next to me and say what you have to say, or go away. Don't hover."

She heard his boots scuffing against the planks as he came and stood beside her. She could feel him looking at her but refused to acknowledge it, staring resolutely out at the water instead.

"Are you all right?" he asked, a bit stiffly.

She heaved a sigh. It was hardly fair to take her mood out on the only person who hadn't caused her any trouble on this trip. At least he hadn't so far. He deserved the benefit of the doubt.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't mean to be rude. I just can't wait to get off this flaming ship."

"I've never been much for boats myself," he said. His voice was kind — much kinder than she deserved. "But this trip is particularly uncomfortable, I'm thinking. What's going on?"

"I wish I knew," she said.

They stood in silence for a few more minutes. He was leaving it up to her, she could tell. She ought to say something, even if she wasn't going to give him a real answer to his question.

"How did you end up here?" she asked. "Not on the boat, obviously — I mean with Fergus."

"Evan — my… employer — his shop burned down during the battle of Denerim. I wasn't there. I never found him, after. He might have been inside when it went."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Nessa said quietly, turning to meet his eyes for the first time.

He gave a jerky nod. "Evan was a good man. I miss him." He cleared his throat. "Anyway, I volunteered for the rescue effort, after that. Got assigned to the teyrn's crew and I was there when he dug Kelwyn out. The kid was lucky. Most people down in the docks when things collapsed didn't make it. We did what we could for the ones who made it. I guess the teyrn liked me well enough after that to take me on as a temporary guard."

"And then Zev liked you, so you got stuck with me. I'm sorry about that. It might be dull at Highever, but it's probably be better to be bored then stuck in the middle of all this."

Brion spread his hands in an open shrug. "I don't know... I've had my whole life to be bored in; it's a change, at least."

A reluctant smile tugged at Nessa's lips. "It's kind of you to say so. You've been a great help; I'll make sure to let Fergus know how much." She lightly punched his arm. "No matter how much it pains my pride to admit it."

He chuckled. "Now who's being kind?"

"You're telling me. I'll never hear the end of it." She squinted. "Was that a dolphin?" she asked, pointing to where she'd seen a flash of silver and a distant splash.

Brion shielded his hand with his eyes and looked towards where she was pointing, but shook his head. "If so, I missed it."

They scanned the horizon for a bit, before Brion shifted and cleared his throat. "Nessa..."

"Maker save us, he knows my name!" she cried, looking up to the sky in mock astonishment.

Brion snorted and shook his head. "There's a time and a place, like you said. I was just wondering… do you want me to talk to him?"

She felt a tightening in her chest, and swallowed hard.

"No," she said thickly. "No. Thanks. But it wouldn't help."

Brion put a hand on her shoulder. She made a conscious effort not to shrug it off; he meant well, but he didn't understand. Sympathy was  _not_  helpful. She dug her fingernails into the palm of her hands, and focused on the sharp bite into her flesh. She was not going to cry. She was not. Not over this and most definitely not here on deck where he — someone — might hear her.

Brion must have felt the tightening of her shoulders, because he let go.

"There's a lot of old history on board this ship right now," she said when she was sure she could keep her voice steady. "Did he... tell you about Alistair? That we used to...?"

She glanced over briefly to see his nod.

"Well," she continued, "you heard the argument yesterday, I'm sure. Everyone did."

He didn't contradict her.

"The problem is..." she rubbed her palms against the rail, pushing against the rough of the wood. "A lot of what was said yesterday… It was one sided and  _completely_  missing the big picture, but it wasn't… inaccurate. I think… until we sort this stuff out, I don't know that we can all… manage. Even if it means a lot of yelling." She ran her hands over her face with a frustrated noise. "I'm not expressing myself very well."

"I'm sure…" Brion trailed off. She looked up and followed his gaze to her other side. Alistair was standing some ways behind them, with a very uncomfortable expression on his face.

"Sorry. I, uh, just…" He held a chamber pot in his hand. "Trying to get downwind."

Nessa bit hard on her lip to hold in a sudden hysterical giggle.

"Have at it," she said, indicating the rail. "I… I think I'll go find something to eat."

She fled without looking back.

* * *

Nessa made her way from the galley down the long corridor toward the guest cabins, a heavy brown mug in each hand. She knocked on Alistair's door with her foot.

"It's me; can I come in for a minute?" she called out.

There was a stir of footsteps, then silence. She knew he stood just on the other side of the door, hesitating over whether to let her in or not.

"I come in peace — and I have something for you," she added.

Slowly he undid the latch and opened the door.

"What's that?" he said, looking at the mug in her hand. He made an attempt to keep his tone casual, but his eyes were avid.

"Tea," she said shortly.

"Ah. Right, of course."

He stepped back to allow her into the room. She followed, and presented him with a mug. He shook his head, waving his hands for good measure.

"Tea makes me jittery, and I already... That is, I'm having trouble as it is. But, you know. Thanks anyway."

"It's not proper tea – just mint," she said, pushing it into his hand. "More to make the water taste better than anything. Mint should help with jitters, actually — at least that's what my Nan used to say." She smiled tentatively.

"Well, okay, I guess," he said, wrapping his fingers around the mug. He didn't smile back, but the fact that he took the tea was something.

She noticed, though, that he waited until she drank hers before taking a cautious sip.

There was nowhere to sit but the bed; Nessa opted to lean against the wall instead. She held her mug in both hands, running one thumb back and forth over the rim.

"I don't know what you heard, earlier. I'm not even sure what I said, to be perfectly honest."

"I was only there for a second," he said quickly, turning away from her.

He looked down at the bed, shuffling his feet as if uncertain whether to stand or sit. After a moment he sat, holding his tea tightly in one hand and wiping the other palm against the leg of his pants.

"The point is," Nessa said, "you were right, at least about some of it. It was — I was selfish. And I know it's too little, too late to say I'm sorry about it now with everything that's happened. But I am. Sorry."

She sipped her tea, watching him over the rim of the cup. His shoulders were hunched, and he looked down at his lap.

"What do you expect me to say?" he asked. "It's not like this is all some kind of a hilarious misunderstanding. You can't just… fix it with an apology."

"I know I can't. I just wanted you to know," she said. "I'm sure it doesn't help to say that getting my revenge didn't turn out to be so great after all, either."

Alistair opened and closed his mouth a few times. Abruptly, he set the tea down on the floor.

"Right. Why are you here?" he asked accusingly.

"Here now, or in general?"

"Both."

"Today... I came to apologize. And to see if we can't, I don't know, at least be civil to one another."

She saw his lip curl, and decided to push on.

"In general, I'm here because Anora was determined to put a stop to this rebellion, one way or another. She asked me because… because I was already involved. And she thought I might actually be able to find you. There aren't that many people who know you well, and she didn't want to solve it… the Antivan way."

"If she's so worried about my rebellious influence, I don't see why she let me go in the first place."

Nessa bit her lip and looked away.

"Maker's breath, what is it this time?" he asked.

"She didn't want to. I asked her to let you go. I know that's… but I wasn't going to let her hurt you."

"Great, so it's another 'favor' that I'm supposed to be grateful for."

"Don't think of it that way. I don't. I owed you, that's all."

"And now she's sent you to fetch me back. You must have loved that."

Nessa rubbed tiredly at her forehead.

"I knew you wouldn't want to see me, and I... But she told me plan B was hiring the Crows and we all know that they don't specialize in kidnapping. It was come and get you — no matter how much you hated me — or let you die. And I couldn't make that choice. No matter what we've said and done to one another. I couldn't."

She walked the three steps across the room — not to go anywhere, just because she couldn't keep still.

"You were all I had when my family was killed," she said. "Just like I was all you had, when Duncan…" She leaned her back against the door, and tried to meet his eyes. "That counts for something no matter what happened after. It has to."

"Has to? It doesn't change… I'm still  _so angry_. What you did... I don't know how you could even think making him a Warden would be okay, after everything he did."

Alistair stood, his hands clenched into fists. Nessa took a half step away from the door just in case he decided to swing. She'd need room to dodge.

"It was wrong," he continued. " _You_  were wrong. And you cheapened the Wardens when you made Logain one of them."

"One of  _us_ ," Nessa said firmly. "Alistair, the Wardens have always conscripted based on skills and bravery, not… personality. Remember Daveth? He stole Duncan's purse and impressed him by how fast he ran away."

"Daveth was a thief, not a traitor and a murderer. And anyway he didn't survive the joining."

"You think survival depends on honor? On being a nice person? Seriously? What about Avernus, then?" Alistair scowled, but Nessa didn't stop. "Do you think he was a nice person? Honorable and upright and true? You saw it. He committed terrible crimes — experimented on his fellows with blood magic — and he was a Warden. Being a good person doesn't enter into it. Wardens have a duty to defeat the blight by any means necessary. Riordan said it; I only knew Duncan for a week, and I don't know how many times I heard  _him_  say it."

She took a deep breath, and loosened her own fists, which had tightened without her realizing it.

"I had a duty to perform, and I made the decisions that I thought would help me carry it out. Maybe they were bad decisions. But they worked; we killed the archdemon. And in the end, that's all that matters. More than you, more than me, more than anything else." She dropped her voice low. "Do you even know why it takes a Warden to kill the archdemon? Did anyone ever tell you?"

Alistair didn't answer. He was turned away from her as far as he could go, and his fists pumped slightly as though it was only an effort of will that was keeping him from sinking them into the wall.

"They didn't, did they? You weren't trying to protect me — you honestly didn't know." She ran a hand over her face. "I found out from Riordan, after you left. When the archdemon's body dies, the tainted soul of the old god doesn't die with it. It's set free to find another tainted host. That's why before there were Wardens, the blight just kept going. The old god would always find another body. The reason a Warden can slay the archdemon is… we're tainted too. But unlike a darkspawn, we also have souls. When the old god tries to take us over… both the old god and the Warden are destroyed."

Alistair's hands had stilled.

"Hate Loghain, if you want. He did terrible things. But he also willingly destroyed his soul to end the blight."

Cautiously, she stepped up behind him and laid a hand on his back. He flinched.

"I'm sorry, Alistair," she said. "For all of it. But this is what the Grey Wardens are. This is what  _we_  are. And right now — you and I are it. The only Ferelden Wardens. And we — I — need you. I hope you'll at least consider coming back."


	25. Chapter 25

The sunlight was unexpectedly harsh after the dim light of the hold. It took Nessa a little while to spot Teagan. He was seated on a crate, out of the sailors' way — hands clasped loosely before him, face into the wind and eyes closed. His nose and forehead were growing pink from so much sun. She supposed he was trying to soak it up while he could. If Anora decided to put him in Fort Drakon, who knew when he would see it again?

She went over and sat next to him. He opened his eyes slightly, nodding when he recognized Nessa, and then closing them again. They sat together in silence for a little while, each hoping the wind could clear some of their anxiety away.

"How is Alistair?" the Bann asked eventually.

"Better before I went to talk to him than he is now," she admitted. "He could probably use a friend, when you're feeling up to it."

"Poor Alistair," said Teagan. "His life has not been an easy one."

Nessa frowned.

"No, it hasn't. But these aren't easy times we're living in. You have to make a choice to pick up your burdens — they'll follow you whether you agree to it or not."

"I suppose that's true," said Tegan. He rose to his feet and walked away. Nessa sat in the sun and thought about her own burdens for a little while.

It was time to talk to Zevran. Whether he agreed to it or not.

* * *

 

Nessa searched the whole ship for Zevran and found nothing. She cursed him inwardly — stupid assassins and their stupid ability to hide in plain sight. After circling the entire ship three times, she knew she needed to change tactics. She pulled a page from his playbook, instead — grabbing an oiled rag and a whetstone, she planted herself casually in a corner of the passageway across from his cabin door. It was a not the best place to sharpen her blades – not only would anyone passing by trip over her, there was hardly any light — but she didn't care. If he wasn't hiding behind the locked door of his cabin as she suspected, he would still have to come this way eventually. She'd work on her blades slowly, by feel. It's not like she had anywhere else to be.

She'd finished her sword and was working on one of her daggers when his door finally cracked open.

"I will say this for you, my Warden; you are terribly persistent."

Nessa gave her dagger a last wipe with the rag before looking up, unable to keep the grin from her face. She set her things down on the floor and stood.

"I learned from the best," she said.

Zevran sighed and stepped out into the hallway.

"Indeed you did. Remind me to be more careful who I teach in the future," he said. "Now. You desire something of me?"

"Yeah. I…" She bit her lip. Now that she finally had his attention she floundered. She'd wanted to confront him, but it was hard to stay angry when he looked so tired and wary and utterly unlike himself.

"I wanted to apologize?" she said tentatively. "Again. I've done something to upset you, and I don't..."

She couldn't quite look him in the eye, and as her gaze wandered she noticed that part of his collar was folded under the neck of his shirt. She couldn't recall ever seeing him not perfectly put together. It made her oddly uncomfortable, and she stepped forward and reached out with both hands to ease it free. She folded the fabric properly back and pulled it straight.

But now that she'd touched him… she found it difficult to pull her hands away. She smoothed the shirt across his shoulders instead.

"What I'm trying to say," she said, forcing her eyes up to his face, "is that I miss you."

She was startled when he lunged forward. He'd never kissed her this way before – there was no gentleness, no tease – only teeth and tongue and fierceness. She clutched at his arms and kissed him back. Forget that there was little privacy on board ship, forget whatever may or may not have been going on with the captain, forget that they were blocking the sodding hallway. Who cared? He was touching her again.

"If this is what you wanted," he growled between kisses, "why did you not simply say so?"

She wasn't capable of answering. It didn't matter now anyway. She fell back against the wall, bringing him with her. He made a noise deep in his throat, and slid both hands down and around, yanking her hips up against him. She shifted, trying to find the perfect spot as their bodies separated and crashed together. One of his hands fumbled with the buttons on her shirt. She wrapped one leg around his, pulling him closer, trying to find the right angle.

"Someone comes," he said abruptly. He moved his hands back to her waist and pushed firmly; she obediently unwrapped herself and allowed him to step back. She gave a breathless laugh, and set about re-buttoning her shirt.

"To be honest, great as that is it's not exactly what I meant..." she looked up and found herself speaking to an empty corridor. "...when I said I missed you," she finished to the air.

"Pardon?"

Nessa turned to find Captain Rafi strolling down the hallway towards her, a slight smile on his face.

"Captain," said Nessa, blushing and hoping she didn't look as disheveled as she felt. "I'm afraid you've caught me talking to myself."

He chuckled. "I suppose we all do that from time to time."

"Apparently I do it more than I realized," she said with a tight smile. "Don't mind me, I'll just take my... one sided conversation somewhere else." She stooped hurriedly to gather up her things.

"My dear, don't let me interrupt you," he said with a wave of his hand. "I was simply looking for Zevran."

"Ahh," said Nessa, dropping one of her daggers. Stupid fingers. "So was I. I thought he might be in his cabin but..." she indicated the open door and shrugged. "Good luck."

She quickly gathered up the rest of her things and hurried into her own room, shutting the door tightly behind her.


	26. Chapter 26

She was hurt but not really surprised that Zevran didn't give her another chance to talk to him until Denerim came into view. Oh, she'd seen him — though she suspected his sudden affinity for making himself useful up in the rigging had more to do with her fear of heights than any real desire to help the captain; he seemed to be avoiding Rafi as well. Any time both his feet were on deck, he surrounded himself with the crew — playing dice or singing songs or even arm wrestling.

Once, she was surprised to see him perched on the rail talking with Alistair. That made even less sense than the arm wrestling, in her opinion. But Alistair had seemed to be listening, so she left them to it.

Alistair was looking better than he had been — the sun and fresh air had cleared the sallow tone of his skin and he no longer started at every noise. He hadn't gained any weight back — the ship's rations were more geared toward sustaining life than building muscle — but his movements were steadier. It was good to see him look more like himself again, she thought, even if his attitude towards Nessa herself remained suspicious and unwelcoming. He hadn't had much to say to her in the past few days, and she'd been unable to get a promise from him to re-join the Wardens. Maybe finding out what might await in Denerim would change his mind… or maybe it wouldn't.

She'd find out soon; they were almost home. She stood with Brion by the rail, shivering a bit in the wind and talking over their arrival in low voices as they watched the land grow closer. Without warning, Zevran dropped from the rigging overhead to land neatly beside them.

"So, what is the plan?" he asked.

_Nice of you to join us_ , she did not say. Nor did she call him a showoff. Or a coward. She was rather proud of herself for her restraint.

"I was just saying," she said pointedly, "we can't walk Bann Teagan through the streets under guard, even assuming there were enough of us to do so. Not only would it cause a scandal, it might tip off Arl Eamon before the queen is ready. I've managed to convince Glenn that it's better to send word and wait for instructions, rather than marching everyone straight to Fort Drakon. But we can't stay here for long — Captain Rafi has made it clear he's got a schedule to keep. So we may need to scout a safe place in the docks to stay until we get word." She sighed. "The problem is, I don't really trust the queen's guard to do either job unsupervised."

"I shall go scout," said Zevran promptly.

"I want you to manage Alistair," she said brusquely. He was not swooping in at the last minute and thinking he could plan this thing for her. For one thing, she thought angrily, how dare he. For another, he was a shitty planner and they both knew it. "I'm thinking Brion should go to the palace. Glenn has insisted on being the one to make the official report, but I want Anora to hear our side too." She turned to Brion. "Maker willing, Fergus took my advice and came to Denerim. Even if you get in to see the queen right away, try to get Fergus there too. If you can't get to Anora immediately, talk to him first. I wrote before we left; he's had plenty of time to get here by now. You're his guard, no one will question you wanting to report to him. I don't know how Anora will react to the news — maybe Fergus will be able to help."

Brion nodded. "I'll go get ready," he said, and made his way below decks.

 

She half expected Zevran to follow, but instead he leaned his hip against the rail and looked out toward Denerim. The loose ends of his hair whipped in the wind. It was getting long, she realized. It had been barely below his ears when they met; now the ends were well past his shoulders. She liked it this way; it wasn't the most practical style for fighting or sneaking perhaps, but it suited him.

"I have been thinking," he said abruptly.

"Have you? How nice," she answered sharply, embarrassed to have been caught staring at his  _hair_ , of all things.

"It may be time for me to move on," he said.

A chill washed over her, almost like someone had dropped a handful of snow down the back of her shirt.

"This bit of adventure has been well and good," he continued, "but I do not find myself looking forward to the prospect of another winter in Ferelden. After this business is done, perhaps I'll catch a ship. Even this one would do, should she stay in port long enough. I cannot go back to Antiva, of course… but perhaps Rivain. It would be most pleasant to be warm again, with winter on the way. I confess I am tired of the snow ruining my fine boots."

"They are nice boots," she said, forcing a smile. "It would be a pity to ruin them. Of course… we could always get you another pair. Antivan boots are expensive but not unheard of in Ferelden, you know."

His answering smile didn't touch his eyes. Ice crept down her spine and settled in the pit of her stomach.

"It is more than boots, in truth," he said. "I have helped to deliver Alistair as I promised and the darkspawn are gone, yes? It is time I attended to business of my own."

"Oh," was all she could say. This was the first she'd heard of his having other business. What other business? And why now? There was something he still wasn't telling her, and it was worse than she had thought. She had to do something, say something — but the ice had grabbed hold of her and she couldn't  _think_.

For several long moments, she struggled to find words. They both watched the harbor grow closer. She could see the dock workers now, lugging crates and throwing ropes. As if it were a normal day. As if she weren't frozen. Snatches of shouting carried across the water as they sailed nearer to the docks.

Nessa worried her lip between her teeth, trying to make this conversation make sense. They had been such good friends. What had happened? There was only one thing that had changed, one cause she could think of — but she didn't really believe it, even as the words came out of her mouth.

"So… you got what you wanted from me and now you're moving on."

Slowly he turned to look at her, his shoulders slightly hunched but his expression unreadable. She'd never seen his eyes so blank.

"Something like that," he said in a low voice.

The chill in her stomach grew, radiated out. She felt cold all over, but she was damned if she was going to let him see it. She lifted her chin.

"Fine. Have a good time." Her voice was brittle with anger. "I suppose Captain Rafi won't charge you too terribly much for passage, if you can't wait around for a handout from Anora."

He blinked at her for a moment, as shocked as though she had actually slapped him. Abruptly he spun around, grabbed hold of the rigging, and swung up into it. He called back without looking down.

"I'll pick up what news I can from the docks and see where you might hide your friends. I'll send word if I find such a place."

Then he shimmied quickly up the ropes, pausing two-thirds of the way up to the fore yard. The dock was rapidly growing closer, but was still too far to reach; she was certain there was no way he could make the jump. But he judged the timing neatly, working with the sway of the ship so that he sprang at the perfect moment to be thrown forward and out. He dove head first, planting his hands just past the edge of the dock and rolling heels over head. He sprang up to his feet and into a run, never breaking momentum. Never looking back.

* * *

 

Numbly, Nessa went down below docks to put on her gear. In a haze, she watched the sailors dock the ship. She disembarked to assist the captain with the Harbormaster, using the letter from the queen to waive the docking fees. Rafi thanked her profusely, but she barely heard him.

Brion and Glenn had departed for the castle the moment the ship had touched the docks. There was nothing now but to wait. Rather than go back to the ship and the waiting prisoners, Nessa walked slowly down the length of the dock. She wasn't following Zevran; she wasn't. And even if she had been, he's almost a quarter of an hour's start on her. She'd never find him now. She wondered numbly if he would he actually scout for a hiding place, or if he were simply gone for good.

Suddenly, she heard a sharp series of barks — her her only warning before Haft nearly knocked her down with an enthusiastic welcome. She rubbed briskly at his scruff as he stood, paws on her shoulders, to lick her face.

"I missed you too, buddy."

She buried her face in his neck, her fingers tightening in his fur. At least someone loved her.

Haft licked her ear, then dropped back to the ground and barked. Not a welcome bark now, but a warning. Nessa frowned.

"What is it?"

"It's Zevran, Ser," panted Kelwyn, running up behind Haft. "He was in some sort of fight; a bunch of people in black came out of an alley and grabbed him! He knocked some of them down, but the rest got hold of him and dragged him away towards the warehouses. I wanted to help, but…"

"Shit," she hissed. She rubbed her forehead and looked back to the boy. "Sorry. You did right to come to me. Which way did they go? How many of them were there?"

"I'm not sure? At least six, I guess. They took Zevran back behind the Broken Hull," he said, gesturing down the road behind them, where several blocks away she could make out the tavern sign hanging over the street.

She turned and started jogging back towards the ship. If there were enough of them to overpower Zevran, it was beyond foolish to go after them alone. But who was there to take? Kelwyn was out of the question; she wasn't putting the child against Crows, and who else could it be? Had they grabbed Zevran because they knew who he was, or because they knew who was under guard on their ship? And how could they know that already?

Kelwyn scampered to catch up.

"What were you doing down in the docks alone?" she snapped over her shoulder.

"I grew up in the docks," he said impatiently. "Anyway, I'm not alone; I've got Haft. I've come every day since we've been in Denerim, to watch for you. For the Teyrn."

Nessa nodded, her mind racing.

"At least he got the message. Okay. I need you to go find Teyrn Fergus and tell him what's happened. Have him bring his men and meet us at the warehouse. Take Haft with you — he'll be able to find him faster than you will. I'll meet you there."

Kelwyn nodded; she clapped him once on the arm before turning back toward the ship and breaking into a run.


	27. Chapter 27

The queen's guards were having none of it.

"We've orders, my lady," said John. Or was it Will? Nessa had never learned to tell them apart. "We're to stand guard over the prisoners until Glenn returns with our escort. Maybe then we can help look for Zevran."

"He's in trouble  _now_ ," she snapped. "How many of you does it take to watch three men in chains? They're hardly going anywhere! And you've a ship full of sailors between here and the dock even if they did try to escape."

"I'm sorry, my lady," he said firmly. "Orders are orders."

Nessa wanted to tear her hair out, or better yet to smash his uncooperative face against the hull of the ship.

"I'll help," said Alistair, from the room beyond. "If you want."

One guard laughed and the other gave a derisive snort. Nessa took two long strides to the open doorway. Alistair sat on the edge of his bed, his hands bound before him. His back was straight and his eyes were clear.

"Are you serious?" she asked. "You'd be willing to go fight, and then to come back quietly when we're done?"

"Yes," said Alistair. "And yes."

She looked at him, trying to get a read on what he was thinking.

"It would be nice to hit something," he added.

She bit her lip, then gave a sharp nod.

"Don't I know it. All right, then. Maybe some of the Orlesian's armor will fit you."

"You can't be serious!" spluttered the-guard-who-might-be-John. "He's a prisoner of the crown! He's staying right where he is until the rest of the guard arrive."

"No," said Nessa. "He's a prisoner of the crown who is coming with me. Don't worry," she added, "you'll still have two tied up prisoners to watch. Give me the keys, please."

"Absolutely not," he said.

"I take full responsibility."

"I bloody well bet you do. Was this your plan all along? To spring him free when we got home? He's a traitor!"

"Alistair is many things," she said, "but he's not a liar. If he tells me he'll come back peacefully than he will." She held out her hand for the key.

The other guard tried a different approach. "You're trying to tell me you think a drunk will be any help to you in a fight? Against Antivan Crows?"

"Alistair and I have fought together against creatures that would make you wet yourself," she snarled. "I would be happy to have him at my back no matter what condition he's in. Now. I don't have time for this." She drew her sword. "Hand over the keys."

"You'll be hanged for attacking a member of the guard," John said — but he sounded uncertain.

"Anora will no doubt be angry if I have to hurt you. But let me remind you that I am Lady Cousland, sister to the Teyrn. I'm also the Hero of Ferelden and I ended the fucking Blight. The queen won't touch a hair on my head — I doubt you'll be able to say the same if something happens to Zevran. Keys. Now."

"Andraste's flaming ass, man, give her the keys!" said Will. He twitched the ring out of his fellow's hand and tossed it to her.

She caught it neatly and stepped into Alistair's room to unlock his bonds.

He stood up, rubbing his wrists. At her nod, he banged open the door to the Orlesian's cubicle and started rummaging around for his armor.

"I need a sword," she said to Will. He nodded to a chest on the other side of the room. Inside she found several weapons; she picked up the likeliest looking sword and closed the lid with a thump.

She gave a long look to the two guardsmen. "Do me a favor, and don't do anything stupid. No doubt the queen will give you ample opportunity to air your grievances."

She tossed back the keys and went to help Alistair get his armor on.

 

Together, Nessa and Alistair ran towards the Broken Hull, slowing as they reached the alley that ran along the side of the tavern and around the back. Alistar's shield clanked against his armor as he moved. He'd carried a larger one a year ago, but he'd been stronger then. She was thankful that they'd managed to squeeze him into the armor; if he hadn't lost so much weight it would never have fit. She worried about that shield, though. He was keeping up so far but she could hear the breath rasp in his throat; she desperately hoped she hadn't made a mistake. She also wished she'd kept Haft with her, but it was too late to do anything about that now. All she could do is hope that she and Alistair would be able to find the Crows and hold them at bay until her brother arrived.

They turned the corner and dropped to a cautious walk. The passageway was dim and narrow, nestled between the tavern and the row of semi-abandoned warehouses. About halfway down, they saw it — one of the doors was scored with deep scratches and smeared with blood. A figure in black leathers was slumped on the ground beside it.

Nessa stooped to investigate.

"Neck broken," she said over her shoulder. "Zev's work, I hope. Looks like we've found the place."

"You're sure this is worth it?" Alistair asked, still wheezing slightly.

"Yes." She turned to him, raising an eyebrow. "Why? Changing your mind?"

"No, I - no." He shifted his grip on the shield. "It feels good to be, you know. In armor again. But even I noticed that something's not right. With Zevran, I mean."

"It doesn't matter," Nessa said, turning back to re-examine the door. "No one gets left behind." There was a small pause. Without turning around, she added, "I'd have come for you sooner, if I'd known. I'm sorry."

"Don't be," he said shortly. "Let's just... get on with it, then."

The door was too damaged to latch fully — after pulling the body aside, they managed to pry it open. The entryway appeared to be empty.

Nessa took a deep breath and drew her sword.

"Ready?" she asked.

"Ready," said Alistair.

They pushed their way inside.

They made their way down the hall as quietly as they could. Alistair seemed to have gotten his shield clanking under control and was following behind her with minimal sound. It was both awkward and a comfort having him at her back. If it weren't for everything else, she'd be glad. But there was no time to dwell on it; she pressed forward.

The first set of rooms off the hallway were empty. All was quiet until they rounded a corner. Once they passed the turn, they heard angry voices. Exchanging a quick look, she and Alistair moved quietly to the next open doorway and peered inside.

A woman in light armor was grinding something with a mortar and pestle at a table at the back of the room, yelling over her shoulder at the two men standing behind her. One of them was shouting back, arms in the air, while the other stared at the ceiling, clearly wishing he were elsewhere.

"I'll take the woman," murmured Nessa. "You?"

"Big arms guy," Alistair whispered back.

"Okay. Now!"

They charged. The woman was the first to catch sight of them from the corner of her eye, and she reached quickly for a glass bottle on the table, and slung it towards them. Nessa just had time to dodge as it crashed on the floor to her right and a large puff of smoke billowed out. She jumped forward and caught the woman with her shield, pushing her back against the table before she could get away. Bottles toppled under the impact, a few of them falling to the floor with a crash.

The woman snarled what was clearly a curse, and drew a pair of daggers from her belt. Even through the haze of smoke now filling the room, Nessa could see that the blades gleamed faintly with a greenish liquid. She drove her sword across, driving into the woman's upper arm. She shrieked in pain and made a wild stab at Nessa with her other hand, but her movements were erratic and easily blocked. Nessa drove the pommel of her sword into the woman's temple, and she crashed to the ground.

Wheeling back to the room, she saw through the haze that Alistair had already knocked one man down and was engaging the second. She had just dispatched the man on the floor when there was another shout from the hallway, and two more Crows rushed into the room. Nessa charged toward them.

She'd trained with Zevran for too long to let them take advantage of the chaos. She deflected a pair of thrown daggers while circling with her shield up, and was careful to keep her eyes on both men. She struck out at whichever attempted to circle around behind her, holding them both at bay until Alistair could finish his man and join her. The moment he did, she turned on the farther one, thumping him with her shield then crippling him with a low sweep at his shins. He didn't give up once he was down, but his final attempts to stab her slid harmlessly across the side of her armor as she moved close enough to slit his throat.

She turned around to see Alistair bash the last Crow with his shield, sending him sprawling back against the wall. Deciding he had it under control — in fact, he almost looked as if he were enjoying it — she ran back out into the hallway. The door at the far end was now wide open; she heard the the rasp of metal sliding against metal, and a low grunt she was sure was Zevran's. She darted ahead, only to stop just outside the door.

Zevran and another dark-skinned elf faced off in the room ahead. They were both of a height, both clad in black, both armed with twin daggers. They circled one another with fast, graceful movements and neither gave ground. Zevran had a bit of rope knotted around one wrist — it matched rope that hung from a hook in the ceiling across the room. It seemed he had been captured but managed to free himself, probably with one of the small knives he kept hidden in his clothes. No longer outnumbered, he now held his own against his only remaining opponent.

Nessa stared. The way they slid around one another was almost beautiful — each move countered, like the steps of a dance. Perhaps they had trained together, or under the same master. She found herself thinking that she'd never before seen Zevran evenly matched. Outnumbered or caught off guard, yes; but never matched in a duel like this one.

"Wow," said Alistair from behind her.

His voice hadn't been loud, but Zevran glanced up sharply at the sound. His opponent took advantage of his distraction and lunged.

"No!" Nessa cried, and darted forward. She had just time to notice the curious give of the floor under her feet before a splash of green swept up, covering her legs in burning acid.

* * *

 

" _Brasca_!" hissed Zevran.

He'd been completely taken off guard by the sight of Nessa — and Alistair? — in the doorway. He'd been absolutely certain it would be days before she… before anyone thought to look for him, given the circumstances. If they ever looked at all.

His surprise had been such that he had frozen for a crucial second and almost been sliced by his opponent's poisoned blade. Almost, but not quite. Without time to properly dodge, he dropped flat to the floor. He missed the incoming dagger, and was able to trip up his foe in the process, catching the back of her knee with his ankle and bringing her crashing down.

By the time he had rolled away and gotten to his feet, Nessa had blundered into the acid trap just beyond the doorway. Would she never learn to look where she stepped? He sprinted towards her without further thought, turning only at the last minute to see his opponent making a leap for a window on the far side, Alistair crashing slowly after her in ill-fitting armor. He'd never catch her, but it didn't matter now.

He dropped to his knees.

" _Cara_ , can you hear me?"

She only whimpered, her breath shallow and fast. Her right pant leg was soaked in the acid, which was rapidly eating away at the fabric, burning through to the flesh beneath. He swore again, tearing the trap mechanism away from her ankle and then picking at the laces on her boots. He had to pause to put on gloves after burning his own fingertips. Once his hands were covered, he yanked off her boots. He was working at the waistband of her pants when Alistair returned.

"She got away," he panted. "Winged her, though… What — what are you  _doing_?"

"Now is no time for modesty, Alistair," Zevran said sharply. "Help me get them off. Do not simply stand there. Do you hear me? She is  _burning_."

"Right. Okay. Right," Alistair said, and came around to Nessa's other side. Together they stripped the leggings down her calves. When they dragged the fabric over her injured skin, she screamed.

" _Lo siento, amor mio._ _Ser paciente_  — hang on, stay with me, yes?" Zevran moved the tattered remains of fabric well away from her, stripped off his gloves, and began digging in his belt pouch.

"Water," he said without looking up, "to rinse with. As fast as you can — then we need to get her to a healer."

Alistair vanished back the way they had come. Nessa was shaking from shock and pain; he had to do something. He pulled several bottles out of his pouch, frowning at each of them before finally selecting a vial of dark purple liquid.

"Not what I would choose, but it's the best I can do," he said, struggling to find a soothing tone, as he moved around to prop Nessa's head and shoulders up on his knees. He gently brushed back her hair, and found her forehead clammy with sweat.

"You need to drink this,  _cara_ , to help you sleep through the pain. Just a tiny sip, yes? Can you do that for me?"

She moved her head slightly. It might have been a nod; it might not. He held the vial to her lips, and carefully tipped a small amount of the potion onto her tongue. He held his breath until she swallowed.

"That's it,  _preciosa_ ," he said, stroking her hair. He corked the bottle and slid it back into his bag. "It will be better soon. I promise."

After a moment, it did seem to get better; she relaxed a little, and her shaking became less violent.

"Zev," she said thickly.

"I am here," he answered.

"Sorry," she said.

"Nonsense. It is I who am sorry," he began.

Before he could continue, Alistair rushed back into the room, a bucket in one hand and a cloak in the other.

"Ah, and here is Alistair. Be easy now," said Zevran. "We need to rinse you down. It will hurt, but it will be over soon, I promise, and we'll get you back to the palace."


	28. Chapter 28

_Happy 2014! My holiday break was a little longer than I intended... but I am back at last, and we don't have much farther to go!_

* * *

 Nessa floated towards consciousness. Something ached. She decided reluctantly she'd better figure out what it was. With an effort like coming up from under water, she pried her eyes open.

"There you are," said a kindly voice. "Can you hear me, Nessa?"

She disentangled an arm from the sheet, and tried to rub her face. Pain bloomed in the lower half of her body. She felt odd and floaty and it hurt to think - she struggled for the name of the redheaded woman who sat beside her bed, certain she ought to know who she was.

"Petra?" Her voice was rough and tentative, but it seemed to function.

"Thank goodness," the mage said. She turned and nodded to a servant who stood by the door; the woman curtseyed and disappeared.

"We knew you had something for pain," Petra continued, "but it wasn't anything I had ever heard of, and I was starting to worry. It's been almost a full day since they brought you back to the palace. What do you remember?"

"We're home, in Denerim," Nessa started, and paused to think. "I saw Kelwyn, who said Zevran was ambushed and... Alistair. I took Alistair to go look for him."

"Yes, and apparently what you found was an acid trap," said Petra. "I've done what I can, for now. How do you feel?"

"Awful." Nessa tried to smile. "My leg is on fire. My head aches..." She gave up on the smile. "And there's a chance I might be sick."

Petra tapped the bucket on the bedside table. "With the amount of lyrium in your system, I'm a bit surprised you haven't already," she said. "Non-mages rarely react well."

"Lyrium?" asked Nessa, fastening one hand firmly to the rim of the bucket.

"Healing potions contain some lyrium, of course, and we gave you quite a few; though I suppose you've had some experience with those. I've also been pouring magic into you as fast as I can regain the mana."

"I hadn't thought about that." She drew a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Thanks."

"You're welcome. Your friends did a good job of getting you here quickly. However, burns are tricky. I've done what I can to mute the pain and repair the muscle, but the skin is going to have to finish regrowing on its own, I'm afraid."

"This is muted?" asked Nessa faintly.

The door opened, and Fergus rushed into the room. Swooping down, he wrapped Nessa in a tight hug. Petra rose, moving toward the end of the bed to give them some space.

"I'm so glad you're all right," he said into her hair.

"Me too," she said, then pushed gently at his shoulder. "Um, can you... it's just there's a fifty-fifty chance I'm about to launch healing potion everywhere."

Fergus hastily leaned back. "Sorry."

"It's ok," she said swallowing hard. "Just wanted to give you fair warning."

"There's a first for everything, I guess," he said, dropping into Petra's chair with a weak laugh.

"Oh sure, kick a girl when she's down." She tried out another smile. This one went a bit better.. "What's going on? Catch me up. Did Brion find you? Is Zevran okay? What happened to Alistair? And Eamon?"

"Short versions, please," interjected Petra. "Nessa needs to rest."

Fergus nodded.

"Everyone is fine," he said. "Alistair and Bann Teagan are in Fort Drakon, but they are as comfortable as they can be under the circumstances. I've seen them myself. We haven't got hold of Eamon yet, but I'm sure we will."

"Flames. I hoped he wouldn't notice our arrival. Though I suppose..."

"Yes. With... everything that happened when you arrived, he'd have been a fool not to realize that something was up. We managed to catch his steward – the Orlesian fellow – and he's being questioned."

"Orlesian?" Nessa started to sit up, and thought the better of it. She'd seen him, that night on the staircase, but she'd never heard him speak. Was he the one who they'd overheard in the gallery?

"He'll talk sooner or later. We'll find Eamon, don't worry."

Nessa frowned. She wasn't sure she believed that. Eamon was too clever and far too meticulous a planner not to have had an escape route ready and waiting.

"What about Isolde?" she asked. "Someone has to find her, before he does."

Petra put a hand on Fergus' shoulder; he looked up and nodded.

"We will, don't worry." He pushed himself up out of the chair. "I should let you sleep. I just wanted to see for myself that you were all right."

"Wait," she said, grabbing for his arm. "What about Zevran? He's… he's still here, isn't he?"

"He was yesterday." Fergus' brow furrowed. "I don't think I've seen him since he brought you back - it almost gave me a heart attack. We were mustering in the courtyard and he came round the corner carrying you... you were so pale I thought..."

"But she's quite all right, as you can see," said Petra, her voice soothing but firm. "I think that's enough for now, my lord."

"Right." Fergus stood, then stooped to kiss Nessa's forehead. "I'll let Anora know you'll be all right. And I'll be back later, okay?"

"'Kay," she said.

He turned to look at her one more time before stepping out the door.

"Someday, you'll stop trying to give me heart failure."

"Don't hold your breath," she said.

He gave a rather undignified snort, and left the room shaking his head.

* * *

Nessa woke to darkness. She'd turned in her sleep and was lying on her injured leg - it throbbed, but throbbing was almost better than the itching. Petra was pleased, and said that was a sign of healing. But for Nessa, lying in an empty room for three days with nothing to do but keep herself from scratching was a recipe for extreme irritation. Somewhere beyond the door of her room, things were happening. The palace was bustling with people and activity — activity she was banned from joining. She'd thought grumpily that she'd even happily sit through a formal dinner just to experience a different sort of boredom. Fergus had brought her some books to give her something to occupy her time. But mostly she found herself staring out the window, tracking the slow journey of the sun across the sky by the angle of the shadows, wondering where everyone was and wishing they'd tell her what was going on.

She eased herself carefully off the leg and onto her back, and wondered if she'd be able to get comfortable enough to get back to sleep. She lifted her head to tug impatiently at the pillow, then froze. Beyond the pool of moonlight splashing the coverlet was a dark shadow at the foot of the bed. She blinked rapidly, but it was not her imagination. It was a figure — legs crossed before him and back propped up against the footboard. Listening carefully, she heard the deep even breaths of sleep.

A knot eased in her chest — one she'd been carrying for days. Zevran was here, safe and in one piece. She relaxed, her head drifting back down to the pillow. No one had been able to tell her where he'd gone or if he'd be back. Confined to bed rest, she'd had no way to find him herself and nothing to do but worry whether he was okay... and if she'd ever see him again.

Then her eyes flew open. He was here, yes – but for how long? What if she woke up in the morning and he was gone again? She wouldn't even be able to hunt him down, with her stupid leg. She pushed herself up to a sitting position.

She could tell the motion had woken him by the way his breath hitched, but he didn't move.

"Hey," she said.

He cleared his throat. "You are awake."

"And you're here. Are you all right?"

"Perfectly." He arched his back like a cat and stretched the stiffness out of his legs. "I dropped in to make sure the same could be said of you. How are you feeling?"

"My leg itches like you would not believe," she said. "And they won't let me up. Otherwise I'm fine."

"Itching is a good sign," he said lightly, and started to slither off the side of the bed.

"Get back here," she said, jerking forward to catch at his arm. She just managed to snag the sleeve of his shirt with her fingertips, and tugged on it for emphasis. "If I have to get up and chase you all over the castle, Petra will be pissed. Probably turn you into a toad. Sit down. In fact, come over here and share a blanket; it's cold."

He allowed her to pull him back toward the bed. "I am not cold, I assure you."

"Well, you're making me cold. Get over here."

He sighed. The sound was far too tragic to be real. She shifted toward the center to make room, patting the pillow beside her. He perched on the edge of the bed instead.

"Now spill," she said. "Where have you been? No one's seen you in days."

"I wanted to take care of my little Crow problem before it got out of hand. Once I saw you safely in the hands of the healer, I went quickly lest the trail grow cold. As I suspected, she was not officially here for me."

"Anora?" she breathed.

"Contracted by Eamon — so sloppy to leave their letters unburned — so one imagines so, yes. For Anora, perhaps for you — perhaps to keep Alistair in line? I do not know for certain. However, I informed the Guard Captain of our discovery before I left. The queen does not so much as sneeze without the assistance of at least three guards. And for now the danger has passed."

"And did you find her? The Crow?"

"It is finished, yes."

Nessa hesitated to ask, but she was curious. "You knew her, didn't you? I've never seen you fight like that. Who was she?"

Zevran shifted, pulling his legs onto the bed and scooting back against the headboard. Nessa pulled the blanket partly over him, then propped herself up on an elbow and waited. Zevran fingered the edge of the blanket for a moment before answering.

"Satia and I worked together for a time, yes. I gather she bid on the Anora's contract specifically in the hopes of finding me here."

"I wondered if you'd trained together," Nessa ventured. "The way she moved – I almost couldn't tell which of you was which."

"Yes, well," he said, his voice heavy. "Taliesen had a type."

"Oh," said Nessa . She bit her lip. "You and Taliesen... I didn't know."

"It was nothing," he said, shifting his shoulders restlessly. "We were part of the same cell, is all. Satia, however, seems to have felt his death rather keenly. I suppose once I was gone she found herself the favorite. At any rate, she is dead now and Anora is safe. And, of course, no survivors means no word will get back to the Crows of my involvement, which is well."

"And you are tired. And sad, I think. Was it difficult?"

"Not so difficult, no. Alistair had managed to injure her, and you had already taken care of the rest of her group."

"No, I meant... because you knew her."

He shook his head slowly, his fingers still worrying the fringe of the blanket.

"As I have said, there are no friends among Crows. We could be hired by opposite factions at any time; it is simply a fact. We were taught to think it a bonus to fight someone you know, the to better understand their weaknesses."

"That's... awful. I'm sorry," she said. It felt horribly inadequate.

"Do not be." He turned toward her for the first time, reaching out a finger to brush her hair behind one ear. "I know little of friendship that I did not learn from you. At the time, I did not miss it."

He took a breath as though he might continue, and his hand hovered near her cheek for a moment. Then he let it go, reaching down for the blanket instead and pulling it off his lap. He slid off the bed and onto his feet.

She wanted to reach for him; to call him back. But she hesitated, and the moment was lost. He was out of reach and nearly lost to sight now, halfway across the room.

"And now I must go," he said. "You should be resting, no?"

"I've had nothing to do but rest," she protested. "If this were the Blight, I'd have been back fighting two days ago. I've just been staring at the walls and itching. It's absurd. The ambassador was supposed to arrive today, and I don't even know if he made it! I haven't seen a soul since morning - the woman who dropped off a dinner tray this evening dumped it and was gone almost before I knew anyone was in the room. I suppose I'm lucky they remembered to feed me at all."

"Shall I be your eyes and ears, then?"

"I wish you would," she said, her voice warm with relief. So he wasn't planning to vanish on her; at least not quite yet. "Just promise to come back and tell me what you know, and I'll give you anything you like."

"Anything?" She could hear his smile in the dark.

"Absolutely anything," she promised.

"I shall see what I can accomplish," he said. It was too dark in the room to see more than a flash of teeth, but she had the vague impression that he swept her a bow before slipping quietly out the door.


	29. Chapter 29

Zevran returned an hour after dawn, full of news. The Ambassador had indeed arrived late the evening before; too late for any formal audience. The planned welcoming dinner had been postponed to a luncheon today; this had created an upset in the kitchens, which had been Zevran’s first point of call. Before being shooed away, he’d managed to confirm that the formal welcome would take place in the Great Hall at mid-morning. Last night there had been a brief meeting which was kept to pleasantries only — this news he had gathered from Fergus, who had apparently been present. The Ambassador was an older man, elaborately dressed in the manner of Orlais but handsome in spite of this, according to Zevran’s various sources. 

“And,” he continued, with the smug expression of one who has kept the best tidbit for last, “his entourage includes Grey Wardens.”

“What?” gasped Nessa, sitting bolt upright.

“Three of them,” he said. “They were not at the meeting, but they did visit the kitchens before retiring for the night.” 

His smile faded slightly as he took in Nessa’s perturbed expression.  

“This is bad,” she said, swinging her legs carefully out of bed. “This is potentially really really bad. For Alistair,” she clarified. “If the Queen tells them that he’s a deserter…” 

Zevran spread his hands. “As far as I know, he has not been discussed.”

“Yet. The audience… when is it?”

“It is a few hours away. What is it you wish?”

“I have to be there. I don’t care what Petra says.” 

Zevran nodded thoughtfully. “Very well. I will arrange it, yes?” 

 

And arrange it he did, with help from Fergus’ staff. He alternately bullied and cajoled the Teyrn’s servants to help him gather what was needed — bandages from the healer, a Warden surcoat from the compound, a handsome walnut walking stick with the Cousland crest that had belonged to Nessa’s father. He managed to coax breakfast from the flustered and sleep-deprived kitchen staff, though he had to carry the tray up himself. He even went to Bann Alfstana’s estate to ask a favor — the Bann had a dress in the perfect shade of blue to match the Warden sigil. Alfstana took time from her own preparations to bring it over personally. Once Nessa’s leg was carefully bandaged she helped her into the dress, which was more or less the right length, though a bit too large in the bust. Alfstanna helped to adjust the Warden surcoat over the top to hide this defect, and assured Nessa that she looked lovely before returning home to finish getting ready herself. 

 

Two hours later, only the final touches remained. Zevran picked at the remnants on the breakfast tray while Nessa fidgeted with her hair. 

“Did you see Brion this morning?” she asked around a mouthful of pins. 

“Indeed I did,” replied Zevran. “He is stationed at the Cousland house, along with your brother’s other guardsmen. He sends his greetings and said to tell you he was bored already.” 

Nessa spit her pins into the palm of her hand so she wouldn’t lose them down the front of her dress as she laughed. 

“Of course he did. I do like him, though I never could quite figure him out.” 

“Couldn’t you?” asked Zevran mildly, without looking up.

“Oh, of course you know all about it. So explain to me how it is that someone who worked in a shop for twenty years is suddenly so bored all the time?”

She pulled out the bun she’d been working on. It was lopsided, again. She gave up. It was going to have to be braids; those she could mostly manage. 

Zevran still hadn’t spoken. She turned to look over her shoulder.

“I won’t tell anyone,” she added. “I doubt there’s anything you’d say that would make me think less of him — he seems perfectly loyal. Is… he is all right, isn’t he?” 

“Loyal he is indeed,” said Zevran. “There is no question of that.” He shrugged. “His so-called employer which he speaks of so often was also his lover, that is all. It caused something of a scandal in the family, I gather. The age difference was significant; Brion was quite young and this Evan was his father’s friend. He still worries that people will judge. And he misses him very much, I think.”

“I see. That makes sense, of course. But Fergus would never hold something like that against him,” Nessa turned back to her mirror and began gathering her hair up to braid it.

“That is easy for you to say — he is your brother, not your employer.” His voice carried a smile, however. “I notice you do not say anything about your own judgement.” 

“Why should I have an opinion about it? Brion is a good man and a good archer, and the rest of it is his business. You know that’s all I care about.”

“So I do.” He stepped up behind her and reached for the pins. “Allow me to help you.” 

“Gladly,” she said, surrendering them with relief. “I’m doubly sorry for his loss, though. I guess I’d prefer to be active too, in his place.” She was quiet for a few moments, as Zevran swept her hair back into an elegant roll and carefully pinned it into place. 

“You’re awfully good at tha.” She raised an eyebrow at him in the mirror.

“Ahh, I have a surprising number of unexpected talents,” he said, giving her a quick wink before returning his attention to the back of her head. 

“No doubt.” She was silent for a moment before clearing her throat. “Getting back to business, then… I need to know what Alistair has decided. Talking to the Wardens will do no good at all if he won’t play along. I’d like to have you with me at the audience, but…” 

“I will go and speak to him,” said Zevran, pushing in a final pin. “Shake your head for me, _cara_? So. You are finished.”  

“Thanks. For both things.” She reached up to explore his handiwork with her fingers. “I hope… with all that’s happened I think maybe he’ll see reason. But if he won’t I need to know as soon as possible. With Eamon on the run, this is the only way I can see any kind of reprieve…” 

“Hush, _bella_ ,” said Zevran, giving her a hand out of her chair and handing her the walking stick. “I will do what I can.” 

She tried out the stick — she thought she’d be able to manage. She didn’t have much range of motion in her right leg — the skin pulled painfully when she flexed her ankle and her knee wasn’t much better — but her left leg had only been lightly splashed and was flexible enough once she had the cane for balance. The itching was infernal, but she could power her way past that. It would probably be easier not to scratch with everyone watching, anyway.

“How do I look?” she asked. 

“Gorgeous. No one shall notice the Ambassador at all, I fear — they shall be too busy admiring you, yes?” 

She grimaced. “Now’s not the time for flattery. Is the outfit okay?” 

“Who says it is flattery? But if you mean would your brother approve, I think the answer is yes. You walk a fine balance between the noblewoman and the Warden. It should allow you to play to whichever side will be most useful.” He cocked his head slightly to one side. “Also, you are gorgeous.”

She gave a huff of impatience to hide her pleasure. Zevran offered her his arm, and together they made their way out of her room and towards the stairs. When they reached the top, she paused.

“I can do this. I just need to go really slowly. You should go on ahead.” 

“Do not be foolish,” he said, sliding an arm around her waist to steady her. He let her set the pace, and after a couple of steps she was comfortable enough to look over at him and smile. 

“But I am foolish, Zev — you know that.”

He looked almost troubled for a moment, then shook it off with a shrug.

“Then endeavor not to be, as a change of pace,” he suggested lightly. “At any rate, our way lies together this far — our friend can wait until I see you safely to the hall, yes?” 

She gave a sigh of relief when they reached the bottom of the stairs. 

“Thanks. What would I do without you?” On impulse, she leaned over to give him a quick kiss on the cheek. “Wish me luck.”

“I doubt very much that you need it,” he replied, flashing her the briefest of smiles before turning to walk quickly through the foyer and out of the palace. 

 

Nessa made her way carefully toward the open doors of the great hall. Most of the nobles were already assembled, gathered in tight knots of bright color, looking for all the world like bunches of flowers or a flock of twittering birds. Everyone was there; the Banns had been arriving from across Ferelden for days.

She scanned the crowd looking for Fergus, but could not spot him. Her brow furrowed. He'd always been punctual, almost to a fault. Hoping he would turn up soon, she made her way toward the upper part of the room closer to the dais. People shifted to make room for her; several commented how pleased they were to see her up and about again. She replied as politely as she could, but it was hard to focus on conversation. She was far too anxious and her leg ached. Zevran had offered to give her something to dull the pain but she'd chosen to do without; she needed her thoughts to be clear. She wondered now if a small bit of something wouldn't have been a good idea.

A sudden hush fell over the room as the Queen appeared on the dais. She was dressed in an elegant gown of white and cloth-of-gold. A golden circlet rested on her head. She was so dazzling it took Nessa a moment to recognize the man at her side. The Queen's hand lightly rested on Fergus' arm. He wore the blue and gray of Cousland, but with golden touches to match the Queen's attire. Nessa let out a breath of surprise. They were quite striking. But what did it mean?

He led the queen to her throne in the center of the dais before stepping back to the edge of the platform. Before Nessa could catch his eye, there was a fanfare of trumpets, and the Orlesian Ambassador appeared at the entrance to the hall.

He made a slow and stately progression up the room, followed by his sumptuously dressed attendants. At the back of his entourage — yes, there they were, three Grey Wardens in official-looking dress uniforms.

"Look at the Wardens!" came a breathless squeak from somewhere behind her. Maive and Habren sounded about to expire from excitement. "Oh, they're so handsome — what dashing uniforms!"

Nessa hardly listened to the formal exchange of greetings — it was all theater anyhow, considering they had met the night before. Instead she watched the Wardens out of the corner of her eye. They stood stiffly at attention, eyes forward, looking very formal, very official — and very different from all the Wardens that Nessa had met so far. Even Riordan who had been from Orlais hadn't carried himself with that sort of stiffness. To be fair, he had been locked in a dungeon for some time when they met, and his gear had all been stolen. She wondered if he'd known these men before he came to Ferelden. But like Riordan, beneath the glistening metal and feathered plumes, these men were clearly warriors. One of them had a scar across his cheek which gave him a particularly severe appearance; all three of them looked as though they'd be just as comfortable on the battlefield as they were in the palace.

Soon enough the official exchange was done; Anora invited all in attendance to remain and mingle before retiring to the salon for a celebratory meal. The preliminaries were over — now the real excitement could begin.

* * *

 

Ahh, breaking in to Fort Drakon, Zevran thought. It was just like old times, yes? How convenient that he had done it before. And as he wasn't planning on breaking anyone out this time, the worst he could expect was a scolding if he were caught. In addition, the guard knew him, and he them — it was altogether much more pleasant this way.

He peered around the corner. Ah yes. Donna was inclined to pick at her fingernails when bored, and he knew for a fact that Edwin had been out drinking last night and would barely be able to keep his eyes open; he'd seen the man stumbling back to the barracks when he was on his way to the kitchens this morning. Now he had only to wait for Donna to start… yes. Just so.

He slid around the corner and into the next set of shadows. Clearly patrols were light today, and the guards on duty were second string at best. Between the Queen's increased security detail and this morning's important audience, most of the guards would have been redirected to the palace.

Guards on duty down by the actual cells were a bit more focused; this time he chose to wait until it was time to switch shifts. While the guards chatted at their handoff, he eased behind them and down the hall toward where he suspected Alistair would be housed. And so it was. The cells in this area were relatively comfortable, all things considered; there were beds with proper blankets and even a table and chair.

Alistair was stretched out on his cot, his arm over his eyes.

Zevran cleared his throat, pleased to see the man jump at the sound. Alistair sat up, his eyes darting quickly, and got to his feet.

"What are you doing here?" he asked in a soft voice as he moved toward the bars.

"I was in the neighborhood," Zevran replied, leaning casually against the bars.

"You were… what?"

He rolled his eyes. "I have come to speak with you."

"Oh." Alistair rubbed uncomfortably at the back of his neck. "Well, then. What is it?"

"Nessa is wondering if you had given any thought to her offer. She needs to know what you decide before she sticks her neck out for you yet again." Zevran's smile was sharp, and did not quite meet his eyes.

"I assume she's not asking herself for a reason?" Alistair paused, a thoughtful frown on his face. "She's all right, isn't she? We don't exactly get a lot of news down here."

"She is as well as can be expected. As for why — she is a busy woman. In addition, if her plan to pawn you off onto the Orlesian Wardens is to succeed, it is better it does not appear you need to communicate first. I did not exactly announce my presence on the way in, either."

"I see," said Alistair.

"So, what is it to be? A life in prison until Anora tires of dangling you as bait? Or a return to your Wardens?"

"I've had some time to think it over," Alistair said quietly. "I'll go with the Wardens, if they'll have me."

"Nessa will be pleased," said Zevran. He didn't bother to try sounding pleased himself. "One of us will be in touch, I imagine," he said, turning away.

"Are you…" Alistair started. Then he shook his head sharply. "Forget it. It's none of my business."

"Oh, this I must hear," said Zevran, turning back again. "Please, do not hold back."

"I said never mind. It's really not…"

"I cannot possibly bear the suspense." Zevran draped himself against the bars, affecting to hang on Alistair's every word. The man's ears turned pink. It was unkind, perhaps, to taunt a man while he was imprisoned. But he made it so easy.

"I was only wondering if you were going to stick around this time," he said reluctantly. "Maker knows I don't care. But Nessa does."

Zevran felt his smile slip.

"You should have heard her when she found out you were missing," Alistair continued when Zevran did not reply. "She threatened the queen's guard, when they wouldn't help — threw every title she had at them and more, and then held them at swordpoint and broke me free. I've seen her in a temper plenty of times, but never quite like that."

"Is that so?" asked Zevran quietly. His eyes flicked rapidly over Alistair's face, but there was no indication that the man was lying. He had always been pathetically straightforward.

Alistair had apparently been making some observations of his own. "Of course she didn't tell you," he said with a snort. "And you never bothered to ask what I was doing there, did you?" He shook his head as he turned away. "You are the stupidest pair of smart people I've ever met. You really do deserve each other."


	30. Chapter 30

The hall filled with the buzz of conversation as Fergus helped Anora down the dais steps to the main floor of the auditorium to speak with the Ambassador. With haste and much swishing of fabric, the nobles left their places along the gallery. An impromptu receiving line formed, as the groups swirled and scattered, those with lower status giving way to those more rich and favored.

Fergus leaned forward to speak quietly into Anora's ear; she nodded, without taking her eyes from the conversation in front of her. He stepped back into the crowd. The Ambassador's attendants likewise moved away as he and his wife turned to stand beside Anora, greeting those who had come to speak with them.

Nessa stayed where she was. She ought to join the line, probably, but what she really wanted was a chair. She looked about to see if there were any available — but as usual, the hall was standing room only. She was casting a wary eye towards the far edge of the dais — would anyone notice if she sat there? — when Fergus appeared at her elbow.

"Are you alright? You should be sitting — or better still, back in bed," he said, his brow creased with concern.

"I wouldn't say no to a chair if there was one, but I'm fine," she said. "And while we're asking questions — what in the Fade was that? You took my suggestion to keep Anora company a bit more to heart than I expected. Though you looked wonderful together, of course. Very striking."

Fergus smiled slightly, avoiding her gaze.

"And you're shy about it? Maker's breath, Fergus." She pulled on his arm until he turned to face her. "Is there something you'd like to tell me, brother dear?"

"Of course not," he said, still not quite meeting her eyes. "We thought a show of strength was appropriate. Visible support from those in high rank. We've got to get that message across as clearly as possible."

"Even if it isn't quite true," she said softly.

He gave a tiny nod.

"And you are the only remaining Teyrn, I suppose, and therefore the only possible candidate," she added with a teasing smile.

Fergus pressed his lips together, resisting the urge to smile back. "Really, you should go rest. I can call someone to escort you —"

"Don't be daft," she interrupted. "The mingling is the most important part, and you know it. I'll be fine."

There was a slight cough from behind her. She turned to find the three Orlesian wardens standing there, dress uniforms sparkling in the late morning light from the windows above.

Nessa wondered if the Ferelden wardens even  _had_  dress uniforms. Duncan hadn't worn one; nor had Alistair. She had only seen the others at a distance but she didn't remember any uniforms among them, either. There had been a griffon emblem on some of the equipment they had found in the keep at Soldier's Peak and again at the compound here in Denerim, but that was all. The surcoat she wore now was simply grey with the griffon emblem embroidered at the hems — as far as she knew, it wasn't part of the official wardrobe. She wasn't terribly surprised that the Orlesians had a dress uniform, though — everyone knew fashion ruled in Orlais.

The lead warden — the one with the rakish scar — bowed courteously, and his companions followed suit. Nessa returned the bow as well as she could, though she winced as the motion caused a painful pull on the skin at the back of her leg.

"Please, Sister," said the lead warden in a charmingly heavy accent, "do not trouble yourself." He waved his hand. "It is clear you have some injury."

"Thank you… Brother." Was this a standard form of address between wardens? She had only ever heard it used during the Joining.

"I am Mathis," he continued. "With me are Tristan and Remi." The men behind him nodded as he said their names.

"I'm Nessa. It's such a nice surprise to have you here. Allow me to present Teyrn Fergus Cousland."

Fergus nodded to the Wardens, who bowed in return.

"It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance," said Fergus. "On behalf of all of Ferelden, allow me to thank you for what your Order has done to end the Blight."

"That is most courteous," said Mathis, "though you mostly have your sister to thank, I believe."

So they had done their homework, she thought. Mathis' eyes flicked between Nessa and her brother, but his tone had been courteous enough.

She decided not to comment on the connection, and instead observed, "I would never have brought down the archdemon without the help of your comrade. Riordan was a brave and heroic man. I am deeply sorry for his loss."

"If he died fulfilling his vows, then he was content. No Warden can ask for a better end."

"Of course," said Nessa, her thoughts flicking to Alistair in spite of herself.

Fergus shifted. "If you gentlemen will excuse me, I should see to the Queen," he said.

The wardens bowed once again. Fergus didn't ask Nessa to go upstairs again, as she feared he might — instead he gave her a very expressive look before he turned away toward the front of the room.

"The Cousland family is close to the throne," observed Mathis with some interest.

"Since my father's time, and before. Though, as you know, I have had to set aside my family obligations to maintain my vows."

"Indeed." Mathis eyes narrowed.

Nessa had never had much patience for politics. She gritted her teeth and changed the subject.

"How have you enjoyed Ferelden so far?"

"It is very rural, of course, but the countryside is quite lovely," he said, accepting the subject change with grace. "I must confess, most of our interest in Ferelden has been in meeting you, and helping to rebuild the Order here. In all our history, there has never been a true Blight that was so short-lived, especially when fought by so few. Both our Warden-Commander in Orlais and the First Warden in Weisshaupt are most anxious to hear the tale. Once they are satisfied with the truth of the tale, they will be able to confirm you in the Ferelden Commander's role — as you no doubt deserve."

"How kind of you," Nessa said as graciously as she could manage. She scanned the room as she tried to think. She wasn't ready to have this conversation yet — there was critical information she needed to know first. "And yes, the story is an interesting one – we had not only darkspawn to contend with but a civil war as well. It is a good thing the Fereldan people are so resilient."

"The ambassador will no doubt be very interested to hear about your war," said Mathis, his eyes gleaming. "We joined his entourage merely for convenience, however. The Grey Wardens do not care for the struggles of kings and queens. We care about the darkspawn."

Nessa was still frantically scanning. There – was that a blonde elf slipping through the door? Please let it be Zevran, she thought.

"Of course," she said, forcing a smile to her lips. "We will be happy to share all the details. However, perhaps now is not quite the right time? I really ought to pay my respects..."

"You really ought to be resting, my lady Warden," said Zevran, in a voice that was wheedling and deferential and not a bit like his normal self. His gaze was lowered, as though he were a servant.

She raised her eyebrows and nearly said something disastrous – but his gaze slanted up toward her and she realized abruptly that he must have some sort of plan.

"Healer Petra will be most distressed," he continued, "if you continue to exert yourself in this way. Your injuries..." he paused delicately.

"Yes," she said, allowing some impatience to creep into her voice. "I know I promised to rest, but I cannot possibly leave the reception before greeting the new ambassador and giving my respects to the queen."

She sighed heavily and turned back to Mathis. "Will you pardon me, gentlemen? Mage Petra is an excellent healer, but I fear if I anger her..." She gave Mathis an apologetic smile. "Healers have the most curious way of making you suffer when you ignore their advice. Perhaps we can meet soon to discuss this matter? Zevran knows my schedule and can help arrange a time."

She felt uncomfortable treating him as a servant, but that was clearly the role he wished to play. The Orlesian Wardens had hardly glanced at him — that must be the point? She hoped she wasn't mis-reading his intention. Her eyes flicked to where he'd been standing, but he seemed to have vanished again. Really, there was no keeping track of him, she thought, feeling rather indignant at being deserted again so soon.

"We would not wish you to risk the ire of a mage," Mathis was saying, his voice hovering between respect and curiosity. "Your queen keeps a mage healer, then? The Wardens have always been… practical in such matters, but we do not always see nobles sharing this attitude. It is most interesting. These injuries of yours – they are not still from the Blight, surely?"

"Oh no, not at all. We had a bit of a run-in with some Antivan Crows."

Mathis' eyebrows rose almost to his hairline. "Crows? Here?"

Curse her big mouth, anyway. Would they never let her go?

"Yes, we stumbled over them quite by accident," she said. "Rather literally — I had a tangle with an acid trap. This is the first day I've been out of my room."

"My lady Nessa!" a crisp voice broke in to the conversation. "Whatever are you doing out of bed?"

As one, the Wardens turned to see a robed, red-headed figure striding toward them. She was trailed by a disgruntled looking man in Templar plate... and Zevran. Nessa quickly revised her earlier opinion. He really was terribly, wonderfully helpful. Mathis wouldn't cross a mage, certainly.

"Enchanter Petra," she said aloud, "I was just returning this moment. Gentlemen, you must excuse me."

The Wardens bowed to her, and stood aside to let her depart.

* * *

Zevran played his chosen part as Nessa's secretary and arranged a meeting with the Wardens for the following afternoon. After that, he sought out Fergus to put a quiet word in his ear that Nessa desired a private meeting with the queen, as soon as such a thing could be arranged. That done, he exited the Great Hall through the service door near the kitchens, as a servant would do.

He'd taken on the role deliberately. None of the Orlesians would trouble to recall an elven servant, which would make things easier should he be called to spy upon them later. It was a role he'd played many times for just such a purpose. But still, to do it before Nessa — and worse, for her — had bothered him. He did not wish her to think of him that way, and it made him uneasy. Not because he believed she did — indeed, she had nearly blown the whole ruse with her expression of surprise. Rather he was uncomfortable that what she thought mattered so much. Again and again, it had come back to this. He cared for her more than he ought, and it was slowing him down. And yet… as much as he wanted to put an end to it, he could not seem to tear himself away.

With heavy steps he made his way to her room. The door was, once again, unlocked. He let the latch catch with an audible click when he shut it behind him.

"Zev?" came her voice from the bedroom.

"How many times must I remind you to lock your door?" His voice came out sharper than he had intended — he paused and took a deep breath before continuing. "It is enough to make one fear for your safety."

He crossed to the open bedroom doorway. It was still disordered from the morning — the bedding rumpled and clothes strewn about. The Warden surcoat she had been wearing earlier was crumpled in a heap at the foot of the bed, her shoes discarded below it on the floor. Nessa sat at the small desk in the corner, a single lamp lit. Her elbows were on the desk – it looked as though she'd been holding her head in her hands before he arrived.

"I didn't want anyone to see you pick it, and I'm too tired to want to get up," she said.

It looked as though she spoke the truth. Her shoulders were slumped, her eyes only half open. He frowned with concern.

"When you are tired, it is doubly important that the door be locked, I think. Let us get you to bed, Warden."

She shook her head slightly, though whether it was the idea of bed or that he had called her Warden, he was not sure.

He opened her clothing chest and rummaged until he found a nightshirt. He set it on the desk, then offered a hand to help her to her feet. She hissed as she tried to stand, and he caught her by the waist to steady her. Her skin was warm beneath the thin silk of her dress.

"Sorry," she said. "I got stiff."

Her hands wrapped around his upper arms, her breath ghosting along his cheek. He made sure she was steady and then stepped back out of reach.

"You should have gone to bed already," he said.

She gave him a wry smile. "I couldn't get out of the dress on my own. Buttons."

"Ahh," he said. Of course.

It was a common affectation among noble ladies; a dress with rows upon rows of unreachable buttons meant she could afford a servant to dress and undress her. But Nessa kept no servants. Nessa chose her own clothing with care, but this dress had been borrowed. And now there was no one else to help. He swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry.

"Allow me, then," he said.

She turned, resting her palms against the desk for support. He brushed aside the tiny hairs at the back of her neck, lest they get caught and pulled. Her head dropped under his touch, though whether it was to help or from exhaustion or something else, he could not be sure.

Zevran's fingers were deft but there were many buttons. By the time he was past her shoulders he wanted to simply tug the sides of the dress to pop them free. He wanted to peel the dress from her skin, to run his hands down her back, to kiss the nape of her neck.

Instead, fingers shaking slightly, he continued to work the buttons — past her waist and down to her hips.

His throat was dry; he had to try twice to speak.

"It is done," he said. "Can you do the rest, or...?"

"I can," she said.

He turned away to give her privacy as she shucked off the rest of the silk. He turned back the covers on the bed, simply for something to do.

"Zev," she said after a moment. "Can you... I think I need a hand."

He turned slowly. She wore only the linen nightshirt, but she stood still in a pile of blue fabric up to her knees.

"I'm having some trouble... getting out. I can't really bend over."

"Of course," he said, moving forward. He pushed the silk down out of the way, careful not to touch her injured leg, then offered her a hand for balance. He guided her carefully to the bed and helped her sit on top of it. Then he turned away to pick up the Bann's dress — leaving it on the floor to wrinkle would be no way to repay her for the loan. He shook it out carefully and draped it over the desk chair.

When he turned around, Nessa sat propped up on the pillows, looking at him expectantly.

"You should sleep. You look exhausted," he said.

"I'm not sleepy, just tired. In any case..." She took a deep breath. "There are things I need to know."

Of course there were. That was why he was here, was it not? How stupid of him to forget.

"Alistair has agreed – he will return to the Wardens, if it can be arranged. Apparently life in a cage is not so exciting as he anticipated." It was a weak thrust. Nessa brushed it away with a wave of her hand and a small smile.

"I'm glad. And Mathis? What did he say?"

"He will meet with you tomorrow afternoon. I suggested that perhaps the far end of the gallery would be the most suitable location — public enough for propriety, yet quiet enough to meet undisturbed."

Her eyes brightened.

"I trust you accidentally forgot to mention the secret passage?"

"I thought you might wish me to listen, in case there might be information which ought to be passed on."

"Oh Zevran." She reached out for his hand. Unthinking, he let her take it. "What would I do without you?" She leaned back on the pillows but did not relinquish his hand.

He tried not to squirm.

"For one thing, you would not get nearly enough rest," he said. "This can wait for tomorrow, yes?"

She tugged his hand to bring him closer. "Stop trying to sound like my Nan."

She gave him a tentative smile, which he did not return. She looked away and let go of his hand.

"So, um. Petra gave me some salve to use," she said. "Hand it to me?"

He turned, spotted the unfamiliar jar on the dresser, and went to fetch it. Twisting open the cap, he gave it a careful sniff. Mint, lavender, the tang of frost rock. Dipping a cautious finger into the greenish goo, he sniffed again, then rubbed it between finger and thumb. Some sort of nut oil, he would guess, as an emollient. There was a tingle and a slight numbing effect, beyond the frost rock — serpent vine, perhaps, or liar's tongue.

"You are to spread this over the burn?" he asked, wiping his fingers on a cloth that had lain beneath the jar.

"Yeah. It helps with the itching, mostly."

He settled near her feet with jar, lid, and cloth in his hands. "Shall I?"

"Yes please."

He scooped out a measure of salve and began gently rubbing it into the healing pink skin along the top of her foot and up her shin, all the while wondering why he was doing this. Why did he not simply go? It was foolish to stay; foolish to torment them both in this manner.

Her breath hitched as the shock of the cool salve hit her skin. She exhaled slowly, her head dropping back as the soothing effect took hold. He scooped up more of the salve and continued — around her ankle, up the back of her calf, smoothing the salve behind the warm soft skin of her knee. He imagined continuing up, trailing cool fingers up the inside of her thigh, the way she would sigh, opening for him like a flower. He jerked slightly as he caught himself, and swallowed hard.

Nessa looked up. "I wish you would tell me what you're thinking," she said quietly. "We're neither of us happy with the way things are."

He shook his head, a minute movement, lowering his eyes to the jar as he dipped his fingers in again, pulling out more salve for her other ankle.

"It's just… you turned your back while I was changing," she continued. He could hear her struggle to keep her voice light. "It's not like you to be  _chivalrous_."

His eyes flicked up to her face, which wore a determined smile.

"Well, it isn't," she continued. "How many times have I caught you snooping while I was changing?"

"It is different, now."

"It is. But I don't understand why."

He didn't answer, continuing to spread the salve over her injured skin, as quickly and gently as he could.

 

It wasn't the right time to press him, Nessa knew. But there might never be a right time. And this dancing around was hurting them both; it had to stop.

Zevran did not look at her. He finished with the salve and screwed shut the lid of the jar with focused care, as though it were a complicated puzzle to be solved. He spent just as much attention on wiping his fingers clean on the cloth and folding it into a tidy square.

"I did not expect you to come for me," he said finally.

She didn't have to ask what he meant.

"It might have been better if I hadn't, for all the good it did you."

"No. I… I was touched. This is three times now that you have been willing to save my life. And after what I said… I did not think to see you again."

"Your battles are mine, Zev. Just like mine have been yours. Of course I came to help."

"There is no 'of course' about it," he snapped, his eyes flashing in sudden anger. "No other person in a thousand would think that way. This… loyalty is not to be expected." He stood and crossed the room, placing the cloth and the jar of salve on the exact center of the dresser. His temper passed, as quickly as it had come, and he shook his head. "Many things with you are not as I expect."

He turned and paced along the far side of the room. His feet made only the barest scuff of sound against the carpet; that he made any sound at all was a sign of his distraction.

"All my life I have been taught to trust no one but myself," he said abruptly. "That sentiment is a weakness — a danger and a luxury that I cannot afford. I grew up among those who sold the illusion of love, and then I was trained to make my heart cold in favor of the kill. But I feel…" He stopped and met her eyes. "I cannot reconcile what I know with what I am feeling."

Nessa swallowed. He looked at her as though she might have an answer. But how could she say he was wrong? To claim that love was no danger would be a lie. She wasn't going to lie to him, not even to make him stay.

"I am no wiser than you," she said slowly. "I don't know what's going to happen, and I can't tell you your training is wrong. When you are… close to someone, there is always risk. All I know is I'm happier when we're together." She knotted her fingers together in her lap. "I want you to stay. I would take the risk. But I can't force it on you."

He stepped closer to the bed. She fervently hoped that was a good sign.

"I do not think I fit into this life," he said, with a small gesture that she took to encompass the palace and everything in it.

She almost laughed with relief.

"And you think I do? I'm not staying here. I do have Warden things to take care of, but not in the palace. And once that's done, I'd love to travel. I don't know how much time I'll have," she continued in a low voice, "or when the taint will catch up to me. I'm not going to spend the rest of my life sitting behind a desk. I want to see the places you've been. I want to visit Antiva and kill Crows, I want to see Rivain and kiss pirates, I want to have more adventures with you."

"Kissing pirates is it?" he said, coming to the side of the bed, a smile playing about his lips.

"Well," she confessed, "I may have spent some time… considering the possibilities with you and Ravi." She reached for him, sliding her fingers up into his hair as he leaned over her. "Sometime I might like to do more than imagine, is all I'm saying."

"I shall take that under advisement."

"So does that sound like the sort of life that might interest you?" she asked.

His smile grew.

"Perhaps it might." He lowered his lips to hers.

A sudden loud knock at Nessa's door made them both jump.

"Maker's balls!" Nessa swore.

"Now now," said Zevran, straightening up and heading for the door, "there is no cause for such language. Patience is a virtue, is it not?"


	31. Chapter 31

The interruption was not one that could be ignored. One of the queen's guard was there to inform Nessa that Anora was available for a short time to hear her concerns. It was about the only thing that could have gotten Nessa back out of bed; one didn't keep a queen waiting, especially at a time like this. She re-dressed quickly with Zevran's help, and he accompanied her downstairs to the queen's office.

As briefly and concisely as possible, Nessa outlined her plan for dealing with the Orlesian Wardens. Anora hated the idea with just as much vehemence as Nessa had feared.

"Absolutely not," she said. "The last time I granted Alistair exile, he became part of a plot to take the throne. He cannot be let free, for my own personal safety and the safety of Ferelden."

"But he never cared about the throne," Nessa argued from the chair before the Queen's desk. She was the only one seated, in deference to her injuries. Anora stood stiffly behind her desk; Fergus and Zevran lingered near the door — safely out of the way. "He didn't care before his exile and certainly not after. He was alone in Kirkwall — friendless, jobless, penniless. Of course he let himself be persuaded by someone he trusted, who asked him as a favor—"

"Even if that were true, he is known to have been part of a plot against my life. His reasons do not matter; his actions are what count. He was taken prisoner alongside others who confess to the plot — he is a traitor. The point is not open for debate."

"So you're planning to execute him, then. And Teagan as well? When you know that the whole thing was really Eamon's fault?"

Anora's long ago promise hung unspoken in the air.

"I am holding both of them, to use for negotiation if necessary," she said. "Perhaps Eamon will be motivated by the well-being of his brother and his protege."

"I very much doubt that," snapped Nessa. "Eamon is not himself. If he were a mage, I'd say he was possessed; getting trapped in the Fade changed him, Anora. You knew him better than I — surely you can see it? I don't know what he cares about now, but it isn't Alistair, and he's hardly Teagan's biggest supporter these days either. He only cares about them as an avenue to power and revenge."

Anora's eyes unfocused as she considered what she remembered of Eamon from before. She frowned and shook her head.

"Regardless," she said, "you cannot ask this of me. It is out of my power to grant without risking my own life and putting Ferelden in danger. You know I care for you," she added gently, "and you have done much to serve Ferelden. But there are limits."

Nessa turned to Fergus in a silent appeal. He shook his head. Disappointed, she bit her lip. She had one more argument to make, but she'd really hoped she wouldn't have to use it.

"Fine," she said to the queen. "But what about Amaranthine?"

Anora's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?"

"A Fereldan Warden has to go to Weisshaupt and report what we've seen and done. If it isn't Alistair, it has to be me. Who does that leave in charge of Amaranthine? You publicly gave it to the Wardens — not to me, but to the Grey Warden order. If I go and Alistair is in prison, who rules the arling?" She arched an eyebrow. "You of course know that a party of Orlesian Wardens arrived with the Ambassador — it's not just the three that were here at the audience, either. Those were just the captains; they've brought two dozen others to 'help replenish our ranks.' Commander Mathis is oh so anxious to be useful… and wouldn't Empress Celene just love it if the arling right next to Denerim fell under Orlesian control?"

Anora's gaze went cold.

"Is that supposed to be a threat?" she asked in a low voice.

"No it isn't," Nessa said angrily. "It's the truth. We had a blight, Anora. Someone has to report back to Warden Headquarters. Riordan died and there isn't anyone else — only Alistair and me."

Fergus cleared his throat. "I thought Alistair wasn't in Ferelden when the archdemon was slain."

"He was here for the majority of the conflict. We saw the archdemon in the Deep Roads, so he knows it was real. We can fill him in on the final battle," Nessa said quickly. "He knows enough, and he's on the official Warden roster — I never reported him missing." She frowned slightly. "To be honest, I'm not sure that  _I'm_  on the official roster. My Joining was the same day as the Ostagar battle — I doubt Duncan had time to send word before he was killed. Mathis made it quite clear that until Warden Command is convinced there really  _was_  a blight they won't recognize my command in Ferelden. Once again, that puts Orlesian Wardens in a position of power."

She tugged angrily at her shirt cuff. Anora hadn't said a word. If this didn't work… Nessa didn't know what else she could do. She had to keep talking.

"But there's more to it than that," she said. "You have to understand — I care about you, Anora, and I care about Ferelden. But I swore an oath to something bigger. The Wardens protect all of Thedas against a danger that threatens us all. I've already spent too much time here, involved in local affairs. I have an oath to fulfill. So does Alistair. If you are determined prevent him from doing his duty, then I have to do it for him."

Anora's eyes grew icy, but Nessa didn't back down.

"You are the Queen of Ferelden and you have to do what is best for Ferelden. I know that. But our goals aren't mutually exclusive. Let me send Alistair to Weishaupt. The Anderfels are months away — he'll be far out of anyone's reach. I will ask that he be reassigned to stay there and I'll explain why. He can't be used against you from the Anderfels, and certainly not while surrounded by other Wardens."

Anora said nothing. Fergus looked from one of them to the other and shifted uneasily.

"He was out of Ferelden before and still a threat," he said, when it became clear that Anora was not going to speak.

"Eamon knew where he was before. Alistair went to him before he left; Eamon gave him money and the name of a ship's captain who could get him to the Free Marches. Neither of them anticipated how things would go when he got there, but Eamon is the one who sent him. Returning him to the Wardens is entirely different. The Wardens have no political affiliations, no connections to the Landsmeet or Ferelden nobility. They'll take him out of our reach and redirect his energies to their proper purpose. And they need the information that he has, to further our understanding of blights and why they happen, and how we can fight them. There's also the matter of the archdemon's blood — what I managed to collect needs to go to the Wardens."

Fergus raised his eyebrows, but Nessa shook her head decisively.

"I can't tell you why. But trust that it is important. If it hadn't been, I never would have gone back to collect it."

Anora had turned toward a large painting of the Ferelden countryside which covered most of one wall of the office. Nessa wasn't sure she'd even been listening at the end. But her argument had run its course, so she turned to the queen and waited for an acknowledgement. Anora made her wait for a very long time.

* * *

 

The air in the queen's office vibrated with tension. Zevran resisted the urge to fill the silence that seemed ready to swallow them up, and studied his companions instead. They were balanced — poised on the edge of a man's death and a friendship lost — and a misstep by any one of them could send them over that edge.

Fergus stood stiffly, his eyes flicking back and forth between Nessa and Anora. Any strongly worded sentiment of support to either could mean a loss of faith from the other; he knew it, and was clearly struggling to stay silent. He had the same sort of brutal honesty as Nessa and Alistair — the swing-straight-at-the-point-with-a-mallet kind. So very Fereldan, all of them. It was not the sort of personality that took well to standing on the sidelines. It was increasingly likely that Fergus stood a chance of becoming the Prince Consort if he played his cards right, and in Zevran's estimation he had just enough ambition to actually want the job. He might be good at it, in his way. He had better education and confidence than Alistair, to be sure, and the same sort of quiet stubbornness. Better still, he clearly had a decent grasp of politics, since he knew enough not to antagonize the queen by openly supporting his sister's argument.

Behind her desk, Anora was just as stiff – her posture ramrod straight and her shoulders tense. She gazed at the painting of the Ferelden countryside as if the answer to her dilemma were hiding under a sheaf of wheat, laid out in paint by some long-forgotten artist. Well forgotten, in Zevran's opinion, but then he'd never had much interest in paintings. Real life was so very much more interesting than art. Anora, for example — Zevran was not quite certain which way she would go; it was clear enough that she was very angry at having been pushed to this point at such a delicate time. Her anger would rebound on Alistair and Nessa both if she let it have the upper hand. But she was too intelligent to let herself be ruled by emotion; so the question remained — what would her intellect decide?

Finally, his eyes fell on Nessa. To the casual eye, she looked quite relaxed; her posture was straight but not rigid, her eyes rested on Anora and her expression was patient. But her fingers rubbed at the edge of her sleeve over and over.

She looked up and caught his eye. Unexpectedly her cheeks grew pink and she smiled slightly. Zevran raised his eyebrows, but she shook her head and turned her gaze to her lap. She dropped her sleeve, her fingers laying still, palms open in her lap.

Finally, Anora unfolded her lips and spoke.

"The Orlesian Wardens know about Amaranthine?"

"They seem very well informed on a variety of subjects," said Nessa, looking up at the queen. "Including Amaranthine, yes. They seem to have done plenty of research before their arrival."

"I need to consider this matter further. You will be informed."

Anora had clearly not yet vanquished her anger. Zevran noticed with concern that Nessa seemed to wilt slightly under the queen's cold glare, but she took a deep breath and climbed jerkily to her feet.

"Then with your permission," she said, "I will take my leave."

"You may go." Anora sat down behind her desk her desk and began leafing slowly through her paperwork, as though she had already forgotten their presence.

After such a dismissal, there was no point in prolonging the interview; Zevran stepped to the door and held it open for Nessa. She gave her brother a long look, then turned and left the room, leaning heavily on her father's walking stick.

 

The first part of their walk back through the palace was silent other than the slow thud of Nessa's cane against the cold stone floor. He waited until they were almost to the stairs before breaking the silence.

"The queen did not take the news as well as one might have hoped."

"She certainly didn't." Nessa sighed. "But she'll get over it. Or maybe she won't; the Mac Tirs can hold a grudge."

Zevran took Nessa's elbow on her good side to support her as they climbed the steps. It was a slow progress, and he could see that her continuing stiffness troubled her. She paused, frowning, as they reached the top. He let go of her arm.

After a moment she reached out to brush the back of his hand with her fingers. He took her hand, and her expression softened. They made their way down the corridor together.

"I really didn't want to back her into a corner like that," Nessa said finally, "but it couldn't be helped. I'll miss her friendship, if I lose it. But I'm right about this," she said, stopping to open her door. "I hope someday she'll realize it."

"No doubt she will someday,  _bella_ ," he said, stepping inside the room. "But perhaps —"

She did not give him the chance to finish. He had hardly shut the door behind him when his arms were unexpectedly full of Grey Warden.

"I'm done talking about Anora now," she said. "There's nothing we can do about it, and no point in worrying. We were involved in a far more interesting conversation when we got interrupted earlier." She brushed her fingertips down his cheek. "I'd like to bring us back on topic."

"Ahhh, I see. Well, if you insist…"

"I do," she said, and kissed him.

It was a delight to have her back in his arms, demanding yet also sweet, running gentle fingers up the length of his ear or across his throat. Nessa kissed like she did everything else — her movements impulsive yet sure, then a pause to reassess and an attack from a different angle.

Finally, she sighed and pulled back. "I need to sit. Or… something. Bed?"

"Your legs pain you?" he asked, conscience-stricken. In the heat of the moment he had forgotten her injury.

"A little." She reached behind him to lock the door.

He laughed. "So now I see where your priorities lie."

"Shut up," she said, grabbing the front of his shirt and kissing him again.

Slowly, they made their way across the floor towards the bedroom, Nessa moving backwards and tugging him along behind her. She hissed when her calf bumped the leg of a chair, her weight suddenly hanging from his shoulders. The hand in his hair tightened, and the burn of it ran down his spine. Resisting the sudden desire to bury his face in her neck, he pulled her up into his arms and carried her the rest of the way into the bedroom. He set her down on the bed, far more gently than he desired to. Between kisses, they undressed one another a piece at a time, stopping to kiss and lick and bite as they went. He went down on his knees to slide the slippers off her feet, then helped her scoot back towards the pillows.

She reached for him, but he had other ideas. Resuming his earlier position near the foot of the bed, he trailed his fingers up along the silky skin of her inner thighs. She shuddered, dropping her knees open. He leaned in, lips following fingers now, until he could brush the outside of her smalls with cool fingertips. Her hips shifted, and he smiled. He ran his fingers under the edge of the fabric, around to the outside of her hips - she moved to help him slide the fabric away, down her legs, carefully over her injured skin and off onto the floor.

He hung back for a moment to look at her, remembering the first time he had tasted her. She was even more beautiful to his eyes then she had been then — not in the way of the dusky Antivan girls of his youth, perhaps, nor with the classic golden symmetry of Ferelden's queen — but her eyes shone, her cheeks were flushed, her lips parted in a way that invited kisses as surely as any words could do. She was fierce and brave and lovely, and it was Zevran that she wanted. How could he resist her?

He prowled up the length of her legs to settle between her thighs, parting her softly with his fingertips, leaning in to taste, losing himself in her, teasing and touching. It wasn't long before she was trembling under his ministrations, before her hands grabbed at his hair and her thighs clamped around his ears as she surrendered and came.

He was trailing his lips along her thigh, giving her a moment to recover, when he felt the sharp jerk of fingers yanking on his hair. He allowed her to lift up his head.

"Stop showing off and come here," she said.

"Showing off, is it? Are you displeased with my performance?"

"You know perfectly well what I think of your 'performance' — but you're hiding from me. Get up here."

She wound a second hand into his hair, and he allowed her to pull him up until they were face to face. The sharp ache along his scalp sent a thrill down his spine, and he gave in to the urge to whine, just a little.

"You're stalling," she said with a wicked grin. "I want you inside me."

"I should hate to keep a lady waiting."

"Then don't," she murmured into his ear. She tugged gently at his earlobe with her teeth.

And who was he to resist? She was perfection, hot and wet, and the way she shuddered as he pushed inside her was enough to make him pause. If he was not careful, he would not last; that would be a pity when they had both waited so for this moment.

Being careful not to jostle her injured limbs, he slid into her again. She sighed and pulled him down into a kiss. Together they moved, her hips rising to meet his, their pace steadily increasing. Her hands roved from his hair, down his shoulders, across his hips, as though she could not touch him enough. Sometimes her hands were gentle, sometimes fierce — and each time he reached the apex of his thrust she would dig in. His back would be scored with crescent shaped marks from the digging of her nails. The thought excited him, and he shifted the angle of his hips.

Nessa bit sharply at his neck in response — there was no holding back after that. He maintained control only long enough to make sure she took her pleasure before giving in to his own.

As they caught their breath, Nessa twined her arms around his neck as though she were afraid that he might flee. He shook his head slightly and rested his forehead against hers. He was done running.

"No regrets?" she asked softly.

"No regrets,  _amore_ ," he answered.

* * *

 

They stood on the palace roof in the pre-dawn light, side by side, elbows resting on the parapet. The wind gusted, and Nessa jumped as something cold brushed against her neck — it took her a moment to realize that it was the earring Zevran had given her. It was quite lovely; a long twist of gold with a sapphire winking at the tip. She'd never been much of a jewelry person — but this was something she had no intention of ever taking off.

There was something about the air this morning. It was always smokey in Denerim, even this far above the city streets, but the quality of it was somehow different — it smelt less of trash and more of woodsmoke. Autumn was nearly here. Below them, the palace courtyard was still in the dark. By the light of the torches they carried, she could see the Orlesian wardens mustering.

It had taken a lot of fast talking and several more meetings with Anora, but it was finally agreed that Alistair, under heavy warden escort, was to go to Weisshaupt after all. Mathis' first captain Remi was leading that party; she could see the stocky blonde man looking up at Alistair as he gave instructions. Alistair answered briefly, his shoulders slumping as he looked away.

Nessa rubbed the sleeve of her shirt between thumb and forefinger and reminded herself that she'd done everything she could. Alistair had made his bed; now he would lie in it. Still, she couldn't deny it gave her a pang to think she would never see him again. She shrugged that away, dragging her mind back to the present and the dim cool morning. Hopefully they would reach Weisshaupt before the snows set in. She shivered, and Zevran slid his arm around her shoulders. She leaned in closer to him.

Mathis was in the courtyard as well; he was leading the rest of the Orlesians toward Amaranthine. She needed to follow along soon, she knew. Amarantine was several day's journey away – not nearly so far as Weisshaupt, but far enough. She had no great desire to be on the road once the weather turned, but Petra had not yet cleared her for travel. Besides, there was still much to do and many goodbyes to say before she too would be free to march away.

Remi shouted a command, and the party of men began to march, Alistair among them. Both parties left the courtyard, one after the other. Nessa and Zevran watched until the twists and turns of city streets took them out of sight.

"No regrets?" Zevran asked.

"No regrets," she answered. His breath was warm on her cheek. She smiled, and turned to kiss him. "Not a single one."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much, all of you, for taking the time to read my story! And double thanks to those of you who left me comments as well. 
> 
> Stay tuned for the epilogue...


	32. Chapter 32

**EPILOGUE**

Nessa strode into the garrison lockup at Amarantine, Zevran and the others trailing behind her. Their whole arrival had been a disaster — they had seen the smoke on the horizon before they arrived, and found that the Grey Warden stronghold had been overrun with darkspawn. The grounds were littered with the corpses of civilians and Orlesian Wardens alike.

Once the keep was secure, Seneschal Varel gave her a quick tour, partly as an introduction and partly to survey the damage. They were finishing up at the prison, which he warned her was not empty.

Down the steps and though a long dark hall, she found a series of cells. Behind the rusted iron bars at one end sat a young man of average height, with steely eyes and dark hair. He was handsome, in a brooding sort of way — Zevran sucked his teeth in surprise.

"It is our storytelling stranger, is it not?" he said to Nessa in an undertone. "He came to Amaranthine after all."

"It's worse than that," she answered grimly. "He's no stranger."

The prisoner registered their presence, and climbed to his feet. He moved forward to the bars, gripping tightly to the door with one hand.

The prison guard cleared his throat. "This fellow's been locked up for three weeks now, Commander. It took four Grey Wardens to capture him." He sounded rather impressed.

Nessa sighed.

"Commander?" echoed the prisoner. "Then you must be the great hero, conqueror of the blight and vanquisher of all evil. Aren't you supposed to be ten feet tall, with lightening bolts shooting out of your eyes? Somehow I thought my father's murderer would be more impressive." His smile was bitter. "I am Nathaniel Howe. My family owned these lands until you showed up."

"I know," said Nessa, pulling off her helmet. "Nate, it's Nessa."

He blanched. " _You_  killed my father?"

"Only after he murdered my entire family in cold blood," she retorted, stepping closer to the bars. "Even Oren. He was  _six_. Don't ask me how he could possibly have been a threat to your father's political aspirations. Perhaps he was plotting to sell state secrets to the Orlesians? Once they're over five, you really never can tell."

Her voice broke on the last word. Zevran tisked softly and rested a hand on the small of her back.

"He wouldn't – that's not possible," said Nathaniel, his fingers tightening around the iron bars which separated them. "He'd never — not a child. And our fathers were friends!"

"That's what I thought too. But now they're both dead. You, on the other hand, are in a lot more trouble than you think. You helped Eamon almost start a civil war."

"I was trying to avenge my father!"

Nessa shook her head. She then raised her voice, and said in official, ringing tones, "As Warden Commander of Ferelden, I hereby conscript you in the name of the Grey Wardens."

"You what?" Nathaniel's surprise quickly changed to anger. "Absolutely not. Hang me first."

Nessa looked to Seneschal Varel. "I invoke the Right of Conscription."

"An interesting decision, Commander," the man answered, his tone making clear he thought the idea was madness.

"Wait," said Nathaniel. "You… you can't!"

"I can, and I will. You can hope not to survive, if you like. Not everyone does. And trust me, no matter what happens to you it will be better than if Fergus finds you."

"Commander, are you sure?" asked the guard. "He's a very dangerous man."

"I am a very dangerous woman. I'm also the Warden Commander. This is a direct order: prepare the chalice."

Seneschal Varel cleared his throat. "For two?"

Nessa looked over her shoulder. Brion stood back by the door next to the mage Anders, who they'd found standing over the bodies of Templars and darkspawn alike. The mage shifted restlessly; she ignored him. His choice had already been made.

"What do you think?" she asked Brion. "Last chance to change your mind. I can send you home to Fergus, no harm done. He'd be happy to have you."

"No," he said. "I'm in. I  _know_ , Nessa," he added quickly. "You've already warned me."

She gave him a sad smile, and turned back to the seneschal.

"For three."

"Come with me, gentlemen," said the seneschal, nodding to the guard to unlock Nathaniel's cell. "We'll see if you survive the Joining."

* * *

 

_ONE YEAR LATER_

Alistair filled his bowl almost to the brim, balancing a hunk of bread on the edge before turning back toward the room. There wasn't much to say about the food at Weisshaupt Fortress, other than that it was edible and in plentiful supply. With Warden appetites to satisfy, the kitchens had to spread their budget pretty thin. It didn't bother Alistair much — he'd had worse as a Templar recruit.

He turned and moved toward the farther tables, where he'd be able to eat in peace. Halfway across the room, he stopped abruptly, nearly sloshing the contents of his bowl over the side. After a careful moment, he released the breath he'd been holding. The woman bent over her bowl at the very end of the farthest table — for a moment, he'd thought… but she didn't actually look like Nessa at all aside from the color of her hair. She was lean and willowy — definitely not the build of a warrior — and from what he could glimpse of her face behind her long dark locks, he thought her eyes might be brown.

But his curiosity was piqued. He altered course slightly, and headed towards her.

She didn't look up when he approached.

"Is this seat taken?" he asked, sliding in beside her.

"It is now, I suppose," she said into her bowl.

"You're new, aren't you? We – "

"If you're about to say there aren't many women in the Wardens, you can save your breath," she said, tossing back her hair and looking at his face for the first time. "I've heard."

"Ah. Right." Alistair poked his stew and cast around for a more appropriate opening. "So where are you from, then?"

"Ferelden." There was something mournful about the way she said it.

"Really? Me too. You didn't… join there, did you?" he asked cautiously. "It's just… I don't think we've met. Have we? I've been out on patrol for the last couple of weeks."

"I joined in Kirkwall… or the Deep Roads underneath it, to be more precise. I was infected and… and we ran into Stroud by chance. My brother just handed me over to him, like an unwanted package."

She sounded pretty angry about it, actually.

"Stroud's a bit prickly, and… well  _Orlesian_. He's all right underneath, though," he said. "Solid. If you've already been through the Deep Roads, you're ahead of most of the recruits who show up here. I mean, you're lucky to have survived, and it could have been worse. It could have been broodmothers or something, right?"

She looked at him blankly, and he shifted uncomfortably.

"Er… it wasn't broodmothers, was it?"

Her eyes narrowed. "This isn't some sort of hazing thing, is it?"

"Nah. If you saw one, you'd know," he said, scowling at himself for bringing it up. He picked up the bread and tore it in half, just for something to do with his hands. "And if you haven't, you don't  _want_  to know. I'd never seen Nessa so…" He dropped the bread on the table. No sense going  _there_. "Anyway, now that the Blight is over, there probably won't be as many around. Odds are you'll never see one."

The woman's spoon clanked as she set it abruptly down on the table. "Nessa? You fought with the Hero of Ferelden? Maker's breath. You're Alistair."

Alistair dropped his gaze to his bowl.

"Yeah," he said, taking a large bite to prevent having to add anything more. His plan backfired when the stew turned out to be far too hot. He gasped and sputtered and tried not to spit it back into the bowl.

The girl covered her own mouth in response — whether in sympathy or to hide a laugh, he wasn't quite sure.

"Are you all right?" she asked after a moment, her lips twitching. Definitely laughing, then. But not in a mean way. He grimaced and nodded.

"You are not at all what I expected," she said a moment later, after taking a small, delicate bite of her own stew.

"I'm almost afraid to ask… what did you expect?"

"Well, I'd heard you were…" she paused, her brow creasing slightly as she looked for a polite term, "standoffish."

Alistair grunted and took a second, more cautious bite and chewed it carefully. Then he sighed and put down his spoon to rub at his hair.

"When I got here, all anyone wanted to talk about was the Blight. What was it like, how did we do it, you know? And all I wanted was to  _not_  think about it. Ever again, if possible."

She pressed her lips together thoughtfully. "I can understand that. So don't. We'll talk about something else. I'm Bethany."

She extended a hand for him to shake, and he took it. Her grip was gentle and her fingers surprisingly warm. She smiled, and this time there was no bitterness behind it.

He found himself smiling back. Perhaps he was going to make a new friend in the Wardens after all.  
  


* * *

 

_TWO YEARS LATER_

"There!" said Brion.

He pointed, and Nessa narrowed her eyes as she sighted down his arm at the slim brown ribbon of road in the distance. She saw only a blurred speck of gold moving between the trees – but she trusted Brion to pick out Zevran, even at this distance.

"Finally!" She half rose from her crouched position on the slanted tiles of the tower roof and slithered carefully down until her feet touched the balcony wall. From there, a rather nerve-wracking moment that required letting go with her hands and a relatively short drop got her to the safety of the paving stone floor. She'd been intensely uncomfortable perched so high, but Nathaniel had told them it was the best lookout point in the keep. Some things were worth a little risk and discomfort. Now that she was back on solid footing, she took a deep breath and rolled her shoulders. After glancing around to make sure that Brion was also on the way down, she turned and darted through the open doors, across the library, and towards the stairs. As she scampered down, taking the steps two at a time, she heard Brion laugh. He didn't bother to keep up, following at a more sedate pace.

When she arrived in the main hall — completely out of breath — she found Nathaniel and Sigrun seated at the table with an immense log book spread open between them. They looked up in alarm at her abrupt entrance, but relaxed when they saw her grin.

"It must be time, then," said Nathaniel.

"It's time."

"Are you sure you aren't going to invite him in, even for an hour?" asked Sigrun. "If it were me, I'd want the chance at a bath."

Nessa laughed. "Two years, Sigrun. I haven't seen him in  _two years_. I'm not letting him within hailing distance of another living soul for at  _least_  forty-eight hours."

Nathaniel permitted himself a tiny smile. "There's a tub at the hunting lodge," he said, handing Nessa a large brass key. "Leave the key inside when you go. I've got my own way in."

"No doubt you have several. You were a horrid child."

He rolled his eyes at her, and she laughed.

"Thankfully, you seem to have turned out all right," she continued. "The Wardens are lucky to have you. Now, one more time. If anyone asks after me, I've gone on my Calling. It's very sad, noble service, blah blah blah, dress it up however you want."

"You want us to lie to the Queen and the Prince Consort?" asked Sigrun.

"No. We'll see them before we go," said Nessa. "I have a new nephew to meet, and I'm fairly certain leaving the country without doing so would be viewed as the highest possible treason."

She turned to where Brion had finally ambled up behind her.

"Come visit, if you like — but not until tomorrow. If you show up too early, I make no promises that anyone will answer the door."

"I have no desire to interrupt anything," he said, holding up his hands. "I promise to wait the forty-eight hours."

They all walked Nessa to the entry hall, where her pack and weapons were waiting by the door.

"I'll miss you, Commander," said Sigrun, clasping her arm.

"I'll miss you too. All of you. But I'm not the Commander anymore." Nessa smiled again at the dwarf before offering her arm to Nathaniel. "You'll do an excellent job, Commander Howe. It seems fitting that you should be in charge of this Keep at last."

"Goodbye, Nessa. Safe travels."

"I don't know that they'll be safe," she said with a wink, and she swung her pack up onto her back. "But they are guaranteed to be entertaining."

And with that she was out the door, jogging impatiently along the road to meet Zevran.


End file.
